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I 



“Proceeding thence to one of the trees near the gate, he alighted, 
hitched his beast, and, opening the gate, advanced modestly up the 
walk.” — Page 53. 


MR. BILLY DOWNS 

AND HIS LIKES 


t 

BY 

RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON 

■ M 


TRUasbrngton, 2). G. 
THE NEALE COMPANY 
1900 


'■Library cJ^on^e^j 

Two Copies J?ec|v rp 

OCT 22M9te j 

Copyright entry ?• 

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NtCXrOwW^VtiS 

FIRST «® 7 *|, { 

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NOV 31- isoOn 


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Copyright, 1892 

CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. 

Copyright, 1900 
THE NEALE COMPANY 


(All rights reserved ) 


PREFACE 


“ The Vicar of Wakefield of American Literature ” was 
the title bestowed upon Colonel Richard Malcolm John- 
ston by Whitcomb Riley, who loved the man as he de- 
lighted in his literary work, and it has seemed to me that 
no more fortuitous epithet was ever applied by one literary 
man to another. It is a pleasure to know that Colonel 
Johnston himself was very happy in the numberless testi- 
monials he received during the later years of his life of 
the love and esteem in which he was held by his fellow- 
craftsman. He was especially delighted at the number of 
these manifestations that came to him from the North, 
from such writers as Mark Twain, Edmund C. Stedman, 
Charles Dudley Warner, R. W. Gilder, and many others ; 
yet, in the South, too, he was honored and loved, and no 
State in the Union was ever as dear to him as his native 
Georgia. 

Eight or ten years ago Thomas Nelson Page began a 
public reading of selections from his own work in Balti- 
more by saying : “I have a friend who says, ‘Tom, there 
is one author who excels you as a writer of Southern dia- 
lect stories, and that is Colonel Richard Malcolm Johnston.’ 
When I tell you that this critic is my own father, you will 
realize that he is not an unfriendly one.” 

Born in Georgia in 1822, the son of a Southern planter, 
who was also a licensed Baptist clergyman, Colonel John- 
ston died in Baltimore in the communion of the Roman 
Catholic Church on September 3, 1898. He was buried 


VI 


PREFACE 


from the church, which was filled with loving friends of 
all manner of religious and political beliefs, and among 
his bearers were men who had fought in opposing armies 
in the War of Secession. One can but think that this 
would have pleased the dear old gentleman, for while he 
bore a military title, acquired as a staff officer to a Georgia 
governor in war time, he was pre-eminently a man of 
peace and never intentionally wronged any human 
being. 

After graduating from college in 1841, Colonel John- 
ston practiced law in his native State until 1857, when he 
became professor of Belles Lettres at the University of 
Georgia. In 1867 he removed to Baltimore and established 
a school for boys, a few miles from the city, where one of his 
associate teachers was Sidney Lanier, the Georgia poet, who 
was very dear to him. This school he conducted success- 
fully until 1882, from which date, until his death in 1898, he 
devoted himself entirely to literary work until the last two 
or three years of his life, when he filled a position in the 
Bureau of Education, in the Interior Department, given 
him by Secretary Hoke Smith. Although well advanced 
in years, Colonel Johnston was glad to accept the position 
and was well pleased that his work in the Bureau was so 
well done and that the publications that he wrote and 
edited there were so valuable that, notwithstanding his 
age, it was easy for his literary friends to secure his reten- 
tion in office under a change of administration. 

His first literary publication was in Georgia, in 1864. 
It is entitled “ Georgia Sketches,” and from that time 
until the year of his death he was continually putting 
forth stories of life in Georgia in the early and middle 
part of this century. The material was gathered by 
Colonel Johnston from his personal experiences as a 
practicing lawyer in the country towns of his native State 


PREFACE 


vii 

and from stories told him by other Georgia lawyers. For 
the accuracy of the dialect Colonel Johnston always 
vouched, and said that Robert Toombs, Alexander H. 
Stephens (a life-long friend), and other distinguished 
Georgians, used to amuse themselves in leisure hours by 
talking to each other and telling stories in this dialect. 

It was ever a delight to hear Colonel Johnston read his 
own stories. As we knew him in Baltimore, he was a dis- 
tinguished-looking old gentleman, some six-feet-two in 
height, with a well-proportioned figure, fine gray hair and 
moustache, kindly blue eyes, and an expression in which 
kindness and sadness were comingled. 

It was ever a joy to Colonel Johnston that he could say 
that he had never published a line reflecting upon any 
form of Christian belief or that taught other than the 
purest morality. 

As Mr. Arthur Stedman wrote, concerning the very 
tales included in this volume, they are characterized " by 
an innate youthfulness in word and thought.” I may add 
that this youthfulness and ingenuousness of disposition 
marked his whole life and character and makes his stories 
delightful memorials of a day and of people that have for- 
ever passed away. 

Colonel Johnston loved his fellowmen, sympathized 
with their joys and sorrows and strove to make the world 
bright and happy for all with whom he was thrown. Al- 
though the final benediction at his funeral came from the 
lips of a Prince of the Church of Rome, the life of the man 
was in itself a benediction. In the hope and belief that 
between the lines of these charming stories that benedic- 
tion will be heard and felt, they are submitted to the 
readers of a new century. 

Henry P. Goddard. 


Baltimore , April //, igoo. 



MR. BILLY DOWNS AND 
HIS LIKES 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 

“ The meek will he guide in judgment ” 

I 

URIOUS is the inequality often noticed 



x< - ,/ in human friendships. Indeed, as a rule, 
the most devoted seem to exist between un- 
equals, superiors submitting complacently to 
beloved, indulged and waited on, inferiors con- 
tent to submit and serve — sometimes even 
thankful to do so. How uncomplainingly 
Theseus accepted the love and sacrifices of 
Pirithoiis ! How touching to David the devo- 
tion of Jonathan, “passing the love of wom- 


en ” ! 


Of a kind similar, although upon a lower 


12 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 


plane, were the loves of Jones Kindrick, the 
greater, and Simeon Newsome, the less. Four 
miles south of our village, at the crossing of 
the county-seat road by one leading from the 
west toward Ivy’s Bridge on the Ogeechee 
River, dwelt the Newsomes. Their large, 
square mansion kept within plenty of good 
things for their enjoyment, and that of others 
who came there with or without special invi- 
tation. A mile and a half east, near the road 
last mentioned, in a dwelling somewhat smaller 
but whiter, lived the Kindricks. The heads of 
these families had died some years before, and 
their widows, who were cousins, had been man- 
aging the estates well during the time it took 
the boys to grow old enough for such respon- 
sibilities. As for Sim (nobody except his 
mother ever called him Simeon), as long as he 
had been anything he had been as steady as 
any clock. He seldom laughed, except when 
politeness so required. Not that he was mo- 
rose; it was only that he rarely saw or heard 
things which to him seemed worthy of laugh- 
ing about. He had tried to take to schooling 


A bachelor’s counselings 15 

with the fondness desired by his parents, but 
while in the midst of demonstrative and other 
adjective pronouns in the forenoons, and of tare 
and tret and the double rule of three in the 
afternoons, not seeing his way clear he pleaded 
fatigue, after such fruitless endeavors, and 
begged of his father to be let go to plowing. 

A set-off to Sim’s humility was the pride he 
felt in the abilities of his cousin Jones, a year 
older than himself. This had been going on 
from childhood until now, when each had 
reached his majority. While at school Sim 
was looked upon as better than Jones in little 
things like spelling and reading, for which 
Jones expressed contempt that had much influ- 
ence upon Sim’s imagination of his greatness. 
This was exalted higher when Sim broke down, 
and Jones, misliking the plow, with which he 
had been threatened, dashed forward and got 
along whether or no, cajoling where he could 
not delay to conquer, hopping over where he 
could not cajole, or, with connivance of the 
master (who liked not to lose a good-paying 
scholar), slipped through behind others who 


14 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 


had opened the way for themselves, and always 
looked and talked like one who was moving 
from victory to victory. In time he had ac- 
quired a stock of words, many of them new, 
which filled Sim with admiration not less fond 
than awful. Of middle height, brown, brawny, 
solemn-faced, he never felt a pulsation of envy 
when he looked at the tall, slender, fair, ever- 
smiling Jones. 

It went on thus after they had taken control 
of the plantations. Sim’s sense of inferiority 
ought to have subsided when it appeared how 
much better he understood and conducted busi- 
ness; but knowing that the soul of Jones was 
too high to let itself be entirely engrossed in 
mere agriculture, he was pleased when the lat- 
ter from time to time let him offer counsel — 
and followed it. 

For a time Jones had been circulating him- 
self and his vocabulary among the girls, and 
his mother and his sister Maria, the latter two 
years older than himself, plain of feature, sen- 
sible of mind and industrious of body, wished 
that he would get married and settle down to 


A BACHELOR S COUNSELINGS 15 

steady work. He let them urge, and answered 
that his matrimonial cogitations had not yet 
come to a head. 

“ Yes,” said his mother one day, “ you think 
you must be a mighty picker and chooser; and 
if you don’t look out you’ll go clean through 
the woods and then have to be satisfied with 
a crooked stick. If you only knew it, S’phrony 
Miller is the girl for you — that is, if you could 
get her.” 

“ As for the ability of sophisticating S’phro- 
ny Miller into the chains of mattermony, ma, 
I — no; perhaps I oughtn’t to use the words.” 

“ I wouldn’t if I were in your place,” said 
Miss Maria. “ It would be a good thing for 
you to get S’phrony, if you could. If you’d 
marry, Cousin Sim would. I really believe he’s 
waiting to see when you are going to settle 
before starting out himself, intending to keep 
himself entirely out of your way.” 

“ Sim ! He’s a dear good fellow, isn’t he ? I 
wish Sim had a better gift of languages; but — 
oh, old Sim will get on well enough, I hope. 
As for me and myself, you and ma, and, I may 


16 A bachelor’s counselings 

say, all other ladies, ha ! ha ! will have to wait 
till my mind comes to judgment.” 

“I say judgment /” retorted his mother, 
probably not knowing herself precisely all that 
she intended to convey by the remark. 

It was different with Sim. Having reached 
manhood safely, soundly and honorably, it be- 
gan to occur to him that it might be a good 
thing to get a wife. He had been too busy 
to go about much, and it was only when riding 
to Horeb meeting - house and back again — 
sometimes perhaps during a long sermon with- 
in — that he had begun to throw, with moder- 
ately heightened interest, speculative eyes 
among the pretty girls who were there in such 
profusion. Then his observations of the life 
led by Mr. Billy Downs, the most respectable 
old bachelor among his acquaintances, backed 
by numerous kind admonitions bestowed upon 
him by the latter, were leading gradually to 
the decision that, on the whole, married 
life was preferable to single, when one took 
the pains to study their several promises of 
results, general and special. 


A BACHELOR’S counselings 


i; 


II 

NOW when, with this thought on his mind, 
Sim next went to the Millers’, whose place 
joined both the Newsomes’ and the Kindricks’, 
and looked at S’phrony from his new point of 
view, he felt that he was content to rest there. 
S’phrony, who was a tall, rather blonde, pen- 
sivish, sweet-looking girl, and her young sis- 
ter were the only offspring of their parents. 
Their dwelling was yet smaller than the Kin- 
dricks’, but whiter, and more shrubbery was in 
the yard than in both the other places put to- 
gether. If the plantation had less acreage, the 
land was fresher, and it would not have been 
easy to say of the two sides, one adjoining the 
Newsomes’ and the other the Kindricks’, which 
was the better. 

When S’phrony noticed that the remarks 
lately made by Sim at the house, although not 
numerous, seemed to have been intended main- 
ly for herself, she felt the interest usually ris- 
ing on such occasions, and from that time her 
talk, the way she dressed, the increased per- 


18 A bachelor’s counselings 

fume of flowers, and one thing and another 
about the room, the non-appearing of her sis- 
ter and parents when he called, all tended to 
confirm him in the thought that he was attempt- 
ing what, if successful, would be a good and 
sensible thing. 

Mr. Billy Downs, between whom and him- 
self was an intimacy which, on the part of the 
former, was warmly fond, urged him to be as 
quiet as possible, but correspondingly speedy. 
The reasons for his advice he had sufficient 
grounds for not fully disclosing. Yet Sim’s in- 
stincts convinced him that it was good, and 
at his fourth visit he was not far from putting 
to S’phrony a question as pointed as he knew 
how to frame it. He fully resolved that he 
would do so at the next, and but for one thing 
this would have been done. That thing — not 
meaning, by use of such a word, to be openly 
offensive to his memory — was Jones Kindrick. 
For — don’t you know? — no sooner had he 
found that Sim was going to the Millers’ in 
suspicious circumstances, than he went to run- 
ning there himself. More than that, he made 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 1 9 

it his business to come over to the Newsomes’, 
and, not finding Sim at the house, to follow 
him out to the very field where he was over- 
seeing the hands. When he found him, thou- 
sands upon thousands of words were used by 
him, of which I shall here put down a few: 

“ Ma and sister Maria have been for some 
time past specified. They have both been go- 
ing on to me about S’phrony Miller in a way 
and to an extent that in some circumstances 
might be called even obstropulous; and to 
quiet their conscience, I’ve begun a kind of a 
visitation over there, and my mind has arriv 
at the conclusion that she’s a good, nice piece 
of flesh, to use the expressions of a man of the 
world and society. What do you think, Sim, 
of the matter under consideration, and what 
would you advise ? I like to have your ad- 
vice sometimes, and I’d like to know what it 
would be under all the circumstances and ap- 
purtenances of a case which, as it stands, it 
seems to have, and it isn’t worth while to 
conceal the fact that it does have, a tremen- 
duous amount of immense responsibility to all 


20 


A bachelor’s counselings 


parties, especially to the undersigned, refer- 
ring, as is well known in books and newspa- 
per advertisements, to myself. What would 
you say to the above, Sim, in all its parts and 
parties ? ” 

It was fortunate for Sim that his hopes had 
not been lifted so high that their sudden fall 
would be too extremely painful. Through the 
hints of Mr. Downs he had been feeling some 
apprehension as to what Jones might do when 
he heard of his visits to S’phrony, and he held 
his feelings in restraint. He now drew a long 
breath, the significance of which was lost upon 
his cousin; then answered: 

“ I didn’t — that is, I never quite got all your 
languages, Jones; but my opinion of S’phrony 
is, that she’s the equil of — I may say — yes, of 
any of ’em. Ahem!” 

“ Your advice then, Sim, is not to the con- 
trary, in all the circumstances ?” 

“You mean — is it your meaning to the 
courting of S’phrony, Jones ? ” 

“You may say words to that effect, for the 
sake of the whole argyment.” 


A bachelor’s counselings 


21 


“ My advice,” answered Sim, after swallow- 
ing the air that had accumulated in his mouth 
— “ my advice would be to anybody — that 
is, I mean any marryiri man — that wanted 
S’phrony, if I was asked for my advice, I 
should give it to git S’phrony if he can. I have 
no hizitation about that, nor not a doubt.” 

“Of course, Sim, in an affair magnified as 
we are on now, your opinion is worth more 
than ma’s and sister Maria’s both put together, 
although it’s a satisfaction that, as the case 
now stands, you colide with ’em perfect. I 
have not yet represented to S’phrony any open 
remarks; but I have insinooated a few pleas- 
ant words to her, and her looks on those oc- 
casions were that she were expecting more of 
the same sort; and now, since I’ve had this 
highly interesting conversation with you, I 
rather think I shall govern myself according. 
Still, there can be no doubt, I don’t suppose, 
but what the future is before us, just like the 
past is behind us, and I can’t but thank you for 
your kind remarks, so entire coliding with ma 
and sister Maria.” 


22 


A bachelor’s counselings 


Brave man was Simeon Newsome, and in 
most things self-reliant enough; but he be- 
lieved that he knew perfectly well that nothing 
could be more vain than for such as he to es- 
say to rival a man of such vast sentiments and 
such boundless powers of expression. Never 
had Jones appeared so great before his eyes, 
what time he could take them off the ground 
and look up his full length. In his mind he 
bade S’phrony Miller farewell, except as a pro- 
spective cousin, and when Jones, after oceans 
of other words, went away, he tried to go to 
thinking about something else. The long habit 
of submission to his superior, and somewhat 
of the old gratification of seeing him an easy 
leader in movements of his genius and inclina- 
tion, soon induced a condition of moderate 
resignation. Had it not been so with Piri- 
thoiis after the success of the joint endeavors 
of Theseus and himself in that first “rape of 
Helen ” in the temple of Diana Orthia ? Did 
he not foresee that the lots cast for her would 
fall to the greater ? As far back as that one 
understood well enough how such things go, 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 


23 


and so, uncomplaining, even congratulatory, 
the subordinate went away to seek the less fair 
Kore among the Molossians. 

Far less content with the condition of things 
was Mr. Billy Downs. A brief description must 
serve for the outside of him. He was a rather 
small, grizzly, thin, but wiry gentleman, some- 
where between forty-five and fifty. He lived 
in a double log house a mile nearer the village 
than the Newsomes. He could have afforded 
to put up a far better mansion, making and 
laying up as he had been doing for the last 
twenty-five years. Everybody liked him, and 
he liked everybody except Jones Kindrick ; 
but this exception was because he loved Sim 
Newsome better than anybody else. Accord- 
ing to neighborhood tradition, Mr. Downs had 
reason to feel peculiar tenderness for Sim. In 
his youth he had wanted, and in his unskilful 
way had tried to get, Sim’s mother when she 
was Miss Fortner. Failing in this, he drew him- 
self in, and stayed there until this son had grown 
old enough to make acquaintance beyond the 
domestic circle, since when, notably since the 


24 a BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 

death of Mr. Newsome, he had been indulg- 
ing for him a feeling somewhat like parental, 
and it grieved him to see that he was rather 
dwarfed by his admitted inferiority to Jones 
Kindrick. The process of affiliation was slow, 
because Mr. Downs seldom went to the house 
in Mr. Newsome’s lifetime, and after his death, 
from feelings of delicacy, never. When this 
good man saw how things had gone in the 
matter of S’phrony Miller, he decided to throw 
out a few words, holding back others to a later 
day. Using a name fonder than that by which 
Sim was commonly addressed, he said: 

“ Simyul, if it have been me, when I see Jones 
abeginnin’ to use over there at the Millers’ with 
his striped kervats and them dictionary words, 
that was above my inf’mation, I should have 
done like you and drawed in my horns. You 
ain’t the pushin’ feller Jones Kindrick is, and 
my expe’unce is, it take pushin’ with female 
young women to make much headway among 
’em. I did hope it were yourn and S’phrony’s 
lot, because she’s a fine young woman. But 
it seem like it weren’t; special as Jones is a 


A bachelor's counselings 25 

kind of a cousin, and have always let you give 
up to him, which people says he oughtn’t to — 
that is, everlastin’. But now, Simyul, if it was 
me, I should spread out, and maybe git up 
a still-hunt outside o’ Jones’s range, and see 
what’s to come of him and S’phrony. For 
two things is absolute certain. One of ’em is, 
S’phrony ain’t the onlest girl in the State o’ 
Georgy, and the other is, they ain’t no tellin’ 
the final upshot of her and Jones, and — well, 
if it was me, I should peeruse around at con- 
ven’ent times, and maybe ride over t’other 
side the river — we’ll say up, in, and along 
there about Williams Creek meetin’- house, 
where Jes Vinson live, and he have a big 
plantation and a daughter besides. But I 
should make a still-hunt if it was me, because 
they ain’t any countin’ on Jones, and special 
when he see you a likely to git ahead of him. 
Of course I got nothin’ ag’inst Jones Kindrick, 
only I do wish that Jones Kindrick could git 
to understand that he ain’t to have every girl 
in the whole State, and special them that he 
see you abuckin’ up to.” 


26 


A BACHELOR’S counselings 


Upon these words, apparently wise and evi- 
dently forbearing, Sim felt that he ought at 
least thoughtfully to ponder. 

Ill 

On a Saturday not long afterward, as Mr. 
Jesse Vinson, one of the deacons, was listening 
with subdued attention to the sermon then be- 
ing delivered by the pastor of Williams Creek 
meeting-house, he observed a young man come 
in softly, take a seat decorously, and with prop- 
er solemnity keep his eyes on the preacher dur- 
ing the remainder of the discourse. When a 
recess was taken prior to the meeting of the 
regular conference, Mr. Vinson, having learned 
that the stranger was the son of his old friend 
and church brother, Eli Newsome, asked if he 
would go and spend the night with him. Sim 
naturally answered yes. Arrived at the Vinson 
mansion, a respectable brick two-story, a mile 
away, he found, as Mr. Downs had said, that a 
young girl was there, and that she was not un- 
like S’phrony Miller, only taller, dressier, and 
more chatty. With such a girl a bashful young 


A BACHELORS COUNSELINGS 2/ 

man can make his way more easily than with 
one like himself. Alley Vinson kindly led 
him along paths which she discovered he could 
tread with least embarrassment. When he 
went to bed that night, he felt that perhaps he 
had done well by venturing there. So he felt 
next morning on the way to meeting, and so 
when the congregation was dispersing, and he 
bade her good-by, and thanked her for the in- 
vitation to come again. 

I don’t remember if it was ever known posi- 
tively how Jones Kindrick found out that Sim 
had been to Williams Creek : but Mr. Billy 
Downs afterward said that he was glad of it, 
although he never admitted that he had con- 
tributed anything leading to the information. 
At all events, at the next meeting-day at Horeb, 
two weeks thereafter, Jones hardly more than 
spoke to Sim, and the latter was surprised, after 
the people were going back home, to see no- 
body in this wide world riding along with 
S’phrony but her father and sister, and S’phrony 
all the while looking as if she felt as lonesome 
as she could be. Mr. Downs and Sim traveled 


28 


A bachelor’s counselings 


along together. The former was as punctual 
at religious services as the very deacons. Con- 
scious of being a bachelor and a sinner, and 
therefore unmeet for the kingdom of heaven, 
he had never applied for membership, but he 
hoped, by the use of other outward means, to 
make his case as mild as possible at the final 
judgment, which naturally he hoped would be 
put off as long as possible. 

“ It look like a onlucky accident, Simyul, 
but my hopes is it’ll turn out for the best. 
Jones have a evident a struck on to your trail 
acrost the river ; and now look at him yonder 
among them men, awavin’ of his tongue and 
the balance o’ hisself, and S’phrony along of 
her pa and her sister by her lone self. Some- 
thin’s up betwix’ him and her ; and if it was 
me, I shouldn’t go to no Williams Creek next 
meetin’-day, but I should wait to see where 
the cat’s goin’ to jump.” 

“ I’ve done made up my mind that I ain’t a- 
goin’ there for yet a while.” 

“ Of course you ain’t; I knewed all the time 
you weren’t. Now, if it was me, I should feel 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 29 

like givin’ my horse a cut and gallopin’ up, 
and sidlin’ in there by S’phrony, betwix’ her 
and her pa; but I don’t think I’d do it quite yit 
a while, so public like that, when her feelin’s 
has been hurted, that is, provided she have 
’em for Jones, which I always can not but has 
had my doubts, and special now when he’s a 
open neglectin’ of her in that kind o’ style. 
And if it was me, I should let Jones have all 
the rope he want.” 

Other talk they had on the way. Mr. Downs 
had not command of what he called Jones 
Kindrick’s dictionary words, but when he felt 
like it, he could be equally voluminous. Stam- 
mering had been the language in which the 
single love of his youth had been conveyed, 
but now in the romance of this young man 
whom his imagination had adopted for a son, 
uncertain, unfixed though it was, he felt an 
interest equal to that of the most impassioned 
lover. 

Mr. Downs had wished heartily for Sim to 
marry S’phrony. In his mild way often he had 
remonstrated with him for his habitual yielding 


30 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 


to Jones. Sim had listened to his praise with- 
out objecting; for to the humblest as to the 
vainest sweet are the panegyrics of a friend. 
Yet it would have been too painful, therefore 
it was not possible, to part from the exalted 
estimate that he had had of Jones all his life. 
Mr. Downs recognized this; and therefore in- 
stead of blaming, he seemed rather to ratify his 
withdrawal from his little stage when Jones 
with his paraphernalia of every sort stepped 
upon the boards. It was for this also that he 
sent Sim upon the expedition across the river. 
He believed that Alley Vinson would be an 
entirely safe investment, yet the main motive 
was to excite in Jones curiosity first, and after- 
ward jealousy, and so lead him away from the 
Millers’. He believed now that he had suc- 
ceeded. His last words to Sim were: 

“You lay low, Simyul; keep alayin’ low as 
you can git. They ain’t no tellin’ what Jones’ll 
do, nor what he won’t do. But one thing is cer- 
tain: Jones Kindrick can’t do everything, a-in- 
cludin’ the marryin’ of everybody. You may 
stick a pin right there among them words.” 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 


31 


He rode on home, his mind occupied with 
all the wistful thoughts and the sweet thoughts 
of a true lover Bless his old heart! 

IV 

Among the rural folk of that generation 
courtships and espousals were for the most 
part brief. Of the two, Sim and Jones, Alley’s 
father liked better the former; but Sim, acting 
on the counsel of Mr. Downs, was lying low on 
his side of the river, and perhaps Alley felt a 
tiff for such neglect. At all events, about two 
months afterward, Jones went over there in the 
family carriage, and brought her back with him 
to stay. 

It was pleasant to see Mr. Downs when Jones 
was taken out of all rival possibilities with his 
dear Simyul. 

“ Simyul, it have come egzact as I wanted. 
Now you can come out and breathe the a’r free. 
And now you got the whole S’phrony Miller 
field before you, and if it was me I should go 
in, and I should go in speedy, and I should go 
in bold.” 


32 A BACHELOR’S counselings 

Sim began at once to feel like a new man, 
and congratulated himself for following the 
salutary counsels of Mr. Downs. On the very 
next meeting-day S’phrony seemed to him 
nicer and sweeter than ever before. There was 
a merriness not habitual in her face and in her 
words when, after the start home, she referred 
to the new couple. 

“ Jones and his bride looked quite cozy and 
bright. Didn’t you think so, Sim ? ” 

“ Well, yes. Jones special looked very com- 
fortable. I’m glad he’s located at last.” 

“ So am I.” 

“You? I — I’m glad to hear it, S’phrony.” 

“What for ?” 

“ Because I — I didn’t know exactly how 
you and Jones stood.” 

“ Stood ? Why, we stood always as we’re 
standing now. What do you mean ? ” 

“ I — fact is, S’phrony, I thought Jones been 
awantin’ of you” 

“ I hope you haven’t been thinking that I 
wanted Jones.” 

She looked at him in mild, smiling reproach, 


A bachelor’s counselings 


33 


and her lips were so red and her teeth so white 
that Sim was thankful that they did not and 
now never could belong to Jones. 

“ I didn’t know — why, of course I didn’t 
know, S’phrony.” 

“ I knew you didn’t. I suppose you didn’t 
care.” 

“ Oh, yes, I did; yes, I did.” 

“ And suppose you had known that I didn’t, 
then what ? ” 

“Why, I should have put in then myself, 
right straight, like I wanted to do, and was 
agoin’ to do when I see Jones acomin’ and — 
and — and abarkin’ up the same tree.” 

Her laugh, unused as she was to great hi- 
larity, rang loud. 

“ I — I declare I’m glad to hear it, that I was 
mistakened.” 

“ Did I say you were mistaken ? ” 

“ No; but you laughed, which go to show 
that you ain’t been apesterin’ your mind about 
Jones.” 

“ No, indeed ; I never put in any sort of bid 
for Jones Kindrick. You always set a higher 


34 A bachelor’s counselings 

value on your cousin Jones than anybody else 
did — except Alley Vinson.” 

“ And I’m mighty glad she done it. Be- 
cause,” he said almost fretfully — “ because ever 
since my mind been in a condition to want 
anybody for myself, I been awantin’ of you.” 

“ Why, then, didn’t you come out like a man 
and tell me so ? ” 

“ It were because Jones — law me, S’phrony, 
I done told you about Jones.” 

“ And then you thought you’d go over to 
the Vinsons’.” 

She looked at him searchingly. 

“ It were Uncle Billy Downs sent me over 
there.” 

“For what ?” 

“ Well, Uncle Billy say that it might sagash- 
uate Jones away from you.” 

“ What in this world is that ? Sagashuate ! 
That word’s beyond me.” 

“ It were Uncle Billy’s word. He meant 
that Jones would be for puttin’ out my tracks 
over there, like he put ’em out over here. If I 
had have knew that Jones had called off from 


A bachelor’s COUNSELINGS 35 

you, I declare on my word and honor, S’phrony, 
I’d never went nigh there.” 

“ Suppose you had thought that Jones jilted 
me, what would you have done then ? ” 

“ I’d ’a’ come at you the same, S’phrony, 
jes’ the same.” 

“ Then I say, bless your heart, and Mr. 
Downs’s too.” 

“ I ’m glad to hear it.” 

He looked at her wistfully, and said not an- 
other word. 

“ Well ? ” at length she inquired. 

“ I — I got no more to say, but, soon as 
Jones were off the track for good, Uncle Billy 
and me we made up our minds for me to court 
you.” 

“ Well, why don't you ? ” 

“ Ain’t I been atryin’ to do it, S’phrony, 
ever sence we left the meetin’-house ? ” 

“Oh ! now I think I understand you. What 
do you want me to say ? ” 

“ I want you to say yes, and then, waitin’ 
like I been adoin’, I don’t want you to put it 
off too fur.” 


36 A bachelor’s counselings 

“ Well, sir, I’ll tell you now plain, Sim New- 
some, that there is n’t a man living that I would 
get married to inside of two months, and you 
needn’t to ask me.” 

“ Let me see; that would fetch it to middle 
of December. That’ll suit me, S’phrony; it’ll 
come in nice for Christmas.” 

“Laws help my heart, Sim ! You talk like 
I was a piece of pound-cake, or a tumbler of 
sillibub.” 

“ No comparison to them, S’phrony; not to 
a whole oven full o’ pound-cake, nor a whole 
stand o’ sillibub.” 

“ Hush ! And now let me tell you one thing, 
my young man. If I am to marry you, you 
have got to quit letting Jones Kindrick top 
you in every everlasting thing. I have been 
mad many a time to see how he has run over 
you, when you were worth ten times as much. 
Do you hear me ? ” 

“ I hear every word you say, S’phrony. Be- 
twix’ me and you and Uncle Billy Downs, I 
know Jones can be made to — to shinny on his 
own side.” 


A bachelor’s counselings 37 

“ No, sir; / shall have nothing to do with it; 
and your uncle Billy Downs, as you call him, 
shall have nothing to do with it. If you can’t 
keep yourself on a level with Jones Kindrick, 
I’ll — I think we’d just as well drop it, and go 
to talking about something else. It’s right 
cool to-day, don’t you think so, for the middle 
of October ? ” 

“ S’phrony, please don’t go to drappin’ all 
my feelin’s down on the very ground, talkin’ 
about the weather ! I hain’t been astudyiri 
about the weather, nor thinkin’ nor keerin’ one 
single continental whether it’s cool or hot. I 
oughtn’t to brought in you and Uncle Billy, 
and if you say so, the first time I ketch Jones 
Kindrick out of his house, I’ll whirl in on him 
and maul some of his big languages out of him. 
S’phrony, please take back what you said 
about the weather, won’t you ? ” 

She looked at him affectionately, and said: 

“ My dear Sim, I’m not afraid that you 
won’t assert your manhood. I take back all I 
said about the weather, and everything else 
that hurt you.” 


38 A bachelor’s counselings 

“ I’m glad to hear it. I hain’t never been 
afraid of Jones. It’s his big languages which 
I never learnt that has made me keep out of 
his way. Jones know I can outfarm him, out- 
run him, fling him down, and can whip him, if 
it come to that; and now, since I find you don’t 
like my givin’ up to him, which ma and Uncle 
Billy has always ruther scolded me for doin’, 
he better keep some of his languages to him- 
self, for me.” 

“ There’ll be no need of any fussing. Jones 
will see that hereafter you intend to be your 
own man, and that will be all that is needed.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it.” 

“ Is that all you have to say ? If it had been 
Jones, he would have used some of his biggest 
words in saying what sort of wife I ’d make.” 

“ Confound Jones ! ” 

V 

It is a goodly sight, the influence of a good 
woman on a husband who needs it. Fortified 
by the support of S’phrony, Sim felt, if in some 
respects not yet the full equal of Jones, at least 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 39 

sufficient to all usual responsibilities. It de- 
lighted Mr. Downs to see him lift up his head 
among men, even in the presence of Jones, and 
not much less when the Newsome fence was 
extended in order to take in such a beautiful 
slice of the Miller land. In the next year 
Sim’s mother died, after which Mr. Downs, his 
embarrassment being now all gone, visited 
freely at the house, and contributed his part 
to Sim’s development into a big, solid, respect- 
able farmer. 

When the novelty with Jones was about over, 
he seemed to feel somewhat the constraint of 
being confined in his attentions to just one wife, 
especially when Alley showed herself to be a 
person who would not be willing to submit to 
any very great amount of foolishness. Her 
father’s indebtedness was more than had been 
suspected, and the dowry that had come along 
with her was much less than what Jones had 
counted upon. Alley made up — at least she 
tried to make up — for this deficit by industry 
and self-assertion, which, if he only had known 
it, were the very things that, for his sake, were 


40 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 


best for her to have. It is curious how a man 
who long has towered among men can be let 
down by one woman, not oversized or aggres- 
sive, only firm and ladylike. His lofty gait, 
exuberant gaiety, and overflowing verbosity 
declined in the constant presence of a wife who 
estimated him at his comparative conjugal 
value, and not much more. Alley and S’phrony 
were very friendly — ostensibly affectionate. 
Yet it cut Alley, who was more ambitious, to 
suspect that S’phrony felt that she had the bet- 
ter husband; for not until after her marriage 
had she learned that it was not for the want of 
trying that Jones had not gotten S’phrony; 
then she remembered, with a sting of more 
than one kind, how lightly, before their mar- 
riage, he had spoken of Sim, whom she now 
saw was regarded by everybody except Jones 
as the latter’s superior. Her very loyalty im- 
parted to these stings a sharper painfulness. 
Stimulated by her influence, Jones became 
much more energetic in business, and, like all 
such persons, hoped to recover his lost as- 
cendancy. At the death of his mother, intes- 


A bachelor’s counselings 41 

tate, a year afterward, he persuaded his sister 
Maria to forego a property division, as they 
were to continue to live together. Upon this ar- 
rangement Mr. Downs expressed his opinions, 
but only to Sim. 

“ It ain’t people’s own fau’t when they hain’t 
the beautiful face of other people, Simyul, I 
know from expe’unce, but that ain’t no reason 
for them to be runned over, and they’d ’a’ been 
a fuss if any o’ my people had wanted to keep 
me out o’ my sheer o’ my father’s prop’ty be- 
cause I weren’t their equil in pooty and size- 
able. As for Jones, he’s bound to be above 
somebody. He have lit off o’ you, and he can’t 
git the up-hand o’ his wife, and now he have 
lit on to Miss M’ria. He hain’t got what he 
expected to git by Alley, and now I suppose 
he think he’ll make it up out of Miss M’ria.” 

Miss Maria was as good as she was plain. 
She had great respect for her sister-in-law, but 
she loved best S’phrony, with whom she some- 
times held chats more or less confidential. 

“ Brother thought it wasn’t worth while to 
have a division, as we were all together, and I 


42 


A BACHELOR’S counselings 


didn’t care about it, as I never expect to go 
away from there. Alley said not one word 
about it, no way; for she’s a good, honor’ble 
woman, Alley is, but it cut her sometimes, I 
suspicion, that brother don’t make and manage 
equil to Cousin Sim. She treats me just like 
her own sister, which as for brother, he hain’t 
always done; that is, not to that extent. He 
know I never expect to change my condition, 
and so I suppose he think it ain’t worth while. 
And then, you know, the little baby’s named 
Maria, which of course it’s after ma, although 
the same name as me, and it’s a’ sweet a little 
thing as it can be, and it take to me a’most the 
same as it take to Alley, and so on the whole 
I told brother, at least for the present, and 
till I said different, to let things stay as they 
are.” 

Things went on with reasonable smoothness 
for two years longer, at the end of which, after 
the birth of her second child, S’phrony died. 
It was very hard on poor Sim, who, for all he 
thought about it, and grieved about it, and did 
everything about it that is usually done in such 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 43 

painful emergencies, was not able to see how, 
if ever, the loss was to be repaired. 

VI 

In this while everything about Mr. Downs 
had grown more dry, not rapidly, but percep- 
tibly. No; there was one exception — his love 
for Sim. 

“ Been my own daughter,” he said often, as 
tears were in his eyes, “I wouldn’t ’a’ felt 
more miser’ble, special for poor Simyul. The 
good Lord always know what’s for the best; 
but sech as that never struck me that way. I 
no doubt S’phrony have gone to mansions in 
the sky, for she was as good as they ever make 
’em; but what poor Simyul is to do, I has yit 
to see.” 

For several months he watched and tended 
him closely; he waited such time as was re- 
spectful to S’phrony’s memory, and then de- 
cided that in a manner as delicate as possible 
he would put forth a feeler. 

“ Simyul, M’ria Kindrick mayn’t be as hand- 
some as some, nor she may n’t be quite as 


44 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 


young; but that nor them don’ hender her 
from bein’ a oncommon fine female, and I have 
been stud’in’ on it, and my mind have arriv at 
the conclusion that M’ria Kindrick would make 
the best sort of a companion to them that has 
lost who they oncet had, and is left with two 
little motherless children.” 

Sim shuddered slightly; then in his heart he 
thanked Mr. Downs, whose motives he knew to 
be all kindness, for only hinting his thoughts, 
instead of blurting them out, as is sometimes 
done by people who seem to have not a par- 
ticle of delicacy. He looked at his children, 
one waddling about on the piazza, the other in 
the nurse’s arms, and said : 

“ Uncle Billy, it appears like to me that since 
S’phrony’s been gone I feel like I don’t keer 
one blessed thing — that is, for myself.” 

“ I know egzact how you feel, Simyul, though 
I ain’t never been in them conditions, a-owin’, 
I suppose, to my not a never havin’ a wife to 
lose o’ no sort. But if it was me, I should 
have my eye on them childern, aknowin’ 
no man person can always see which sech 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 45 

as them, innercent if they be, is obleeged to 
have.” 

“The good Lord know how sorry I am for ’em,” 
and Sim looked at them with much generosity. 

“Of course you are, abein’ they’re your own 
childern; but a young man like you, he ought 
to be sorry for hisself too.” 

Then Sim candidly admitted that he was. 

“I’m thankful for that much,” said Mr. 
Downs, heartily, “and if it was me, I should 
try my level best to requiperate, like the doc- 
tor say; I should try to polish myself up in all 
mod’rate ways, and let people see that I hadn’t 
give up, not by a long shot; and to save 
my life, I can’t keep out of my head, if Jones 
was to divide with Miss M’ria, which, bein’ his 
own dear sister, he’s bound to do, and this side 
o’ the plantation was to fall to her, how corn- 
pack every thing would be, provided people 
had the mind to make it so by jindin’ and nu- 
nitin’ o’ theirselves and it and them.” 

After several talks on this line, Sim lifted 
up his head as well as he could. It was not 
strange that he should drop in at the Kindricks’ 


46 


A bachelor’s counselings 


occasionally, and listen thankfully to what 
consolation the family offered. After the first 
outpour, Jones did little in that way; but Al- 
ley, and especially Miss Maria, were earnestly 
sympathetic and kind. Sim soon began to 
come there quite often, so often that Jones 
considered it necessary to say something about 
it. One morning at the breakfast-table he 
looked up from his plate and said: 

“M’ria, Sim Newsome comes here oftener 
than I can see fit to take any stock in his trav- 
elings and in his visits.” 

At that moment both ladies had their coffee- 
cups in their hands, Miss Maria’s touching her 
lips, and Alley’s on its way. These were set 
down promptly, Miss Maria’s so abruptly that 
some of its contents splashed into the saucer. 
She looked straight at Jones for a second or 
so, then rose, and left the room. 

Contrariwise with Alley. Her face reddened 
with generous shame, and she said: 

“I have heard you make many imprudent, 
not to say foolish and shameless speeches, but 
never one equal to that.” 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 47 

Her disgust was so manifest that he avoided 
the look which she gave him, and said sul- 
lenly : 

“I jest wanted to inform M’ria that Sim 
Newsome was not fooling nor hidwinking me, 
sneaking over here with his moanin’ talks and 
conversations.” 

“Mr. Newsome has not been coming here in 
any such way, Mr. Kindrick, and if he has 
been coming here at all with the notion which 
you showed Maria that you believe, I don’t see, 
for my life, how you could study up a better 
way to drive her to accept him at the first offer 
he makes to her.” 

“My Lord! for a gentleman’s own wife to 
converse in that way, and on a subject of the 
vitualest importance to him as the man of the 
house !” 

“ Ge7itleman ! Man of the house ! Pshaw ! ” 
Then she rose also, and left him to himself. 
Going to Maria’s chamber, she said: 

“Maria, do please try not to mind Mr. Kin- 
drick. I am deeply mortified; but I hope you 
understand your brother well enough to not let 


48 


A bachelor’s counselings 


his reckless, insulting words distress you too 
much.” 

“ Law, my dear child ! I left the table to 
keep from seeing the trouble that I knew such 
outrageous words would give you. Cousin 
Sim, I don’t suppose, has been thinking about 
me as brother hinted. But brother ought to 
know that if Cousin Sim was foolish enough to 
want me, the way to make me take him would 
be to talk about him in that way.” 

“ Let us kiss, and say no more about it.” 

And so they did. 

In a case of this sort, which inevitably must 
grow worse if it docs not grow better, and that 
soon, there was one of two things for a man 
like Jones Kindrick to do. One was to amend 
himself. But people like him cannot learn to 
yield entirely a supremacy after it has been 
admitted so long. When his control over Sim 
had ceased, he thought to transfer it to Alley. 
Failing here, except so far as a loyal wife will 
always submit to any sort of husband, he now 
sought to domineer over his patient sister, and 
we have seen what was likely to come of that. 


A BACHELOR’S COUNSELINGS 49 

Jones, although not an old man, was too old 
to amend. Perhaps he had so decided in his 
mind. Then, not so intending, however, he 
took the other alternative. To make short an 
unpleasant recital, he went into a decline, and 
when he foresaw that he was not to retrace 
his steps, he asked Sim, as a cousin and a 
friend, to be as liberal as he could with Alley 
and the baby when division of his mother’s 
estate should be had between them and Maria. 
And Sim promised solemnly that whatever in- 
fluence he should have in that matter should 
be exerted on the line of the wishes just de- 
clared. Jones thanked him and the rest for all 
that they had done and promised, and then 
went his way. 

“ On the whole,” said Mr. Downs, kindly, 
“ it were as honor’ble thing as Jones could do, 
poor feller.” 

VII 

“No, Simyul,” said Mr. Downs, feeling the 
sweetness which we all have when in forgiving 
mood, “ they ain’t a thing I has to say ag’inst 


50 A BACHELOR S COUNSELINGS 

poor Jones. He were a fine young man, if he 
have only knowed how to act different.” 

A generous man, Sim felt becoming regrets. 
He was touched by the appeal in behalf of Alley 
and her baby, and he resolved to befriend them 
to the degree comporting with other claims. 
He had not intimated to Miss Maria that if she 
should choose, she might have the place left 
vacant by S’phrony. Once or twice, constantly 
stimulated by Mr. Downs and the needs of his 
children, he had not been very far from doing 
it. But, somehow, S’phrony’s image or lack of 
ardent desire had hindered. When Jones had 
gotten out of everybody’s way, Sim gradually 
began to ask himself if he was quite as sorry 
as he used to be ; for somehow, when he was 
at the Kindricks’, he had somewhat of a notion 
that Jones, wherever he was (and he sincerely 
hoped it was a good place), had his eye upon 
him. Alley behaved with entire decorum, ex- 
hibiting neither too much nor too little of un- 
availing sorrow. Both ladies accepted thank- 
fully his counsels about the management of 
their business. Seeing how much these were 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 5 1 

needed in the comparatively run-down condi- 
tion in which things had been left, he went 
over often, because, business man that he was, 
he knew it to be necessary. 

This seems a fitting place to mention the 
somewhat changed relations of Sim and Mr. 
Downs toward each other. Latterly their con- 
fidential chattings had been getting into rather 
dwindling condition. Perhaps neither did so 
deliberately; but at all events they seemed to 
have decided simultaneously that the future, 
better than they, would know how to take care 
of itself. 

Mr. Downs’s land joined both properties. 
One day it occurred to him that the Downs- 
Kindrick line of fence, being rather crumbling, 
ought to be reset. While walking alongside 
he discovered an ancient fnark which showed 
that the fence had been put by mistake on the 
hither side of his line. Knowing that right 
was nothing but right, he resolved to ride over 
and have a friendly talk upon the subject with 
one or both of the Kindrick ladies. But he did 
not do so immediately after making the dis- 


52 A bachelor’s counselings 

covery. No; he first went to town and pur* 
chased some very nice cloth and other mate- 
rials, had everything cut out by the tailor, and 
afterward — on that same day, bless you — 
rode away up to Miss Faithy Wimpy, whom 
he, as well as everybody else, knew to be the 
best maker-up in that whole region. When 
all was finished and brought back, it was then 
that he went to the Kindricks’. Yet he did not 
travel by the public road, which would have 
taken him by the Newsome place. He rode 
over his own ground until reaching the fence 
aforementioned. This he laid down, and, after 
passing over, traveled on quietly and thought- 
fully. The ladies were sitting on the piazza, 
each moderately busy at some sort of needle- 
work, when they heard from behind the house 
the opening and shutting of a gate that led in- 
to the lower portion of the plantation. 

“ Wonder who can be there at that gate,” 
said Miss Maria, suspending her work; “the 
hands ain’t anywhere in that part of the plan- 
tation.” Rising, she walked to the end of the 
piazza, and, looking back, said: “Alley, do 


A BACHELORS COUNSELINGS 


53 


come here. It’s Mr. Downs’s horse, I think , but 
who in this world it is that’s on him, I can’t tell.” 

The horseman came on alongside the garden 
and the yard. Proceeding thence to one of the 
trees near the gate, he alighted, hitched his 
beast, and, opening the gate, advanced modest- 
ly up the walk. Even then Miss Maria didn’t 
dream who it was. 

‘‘Why, Maria,” said Alley, “it’s Mr. Downs 
himself.” And she smiled; for by this time, 
poor thing, she could pick up a little sprightli- 
ness. 

“ What in this world,” said Miss Maria in low 
tones, “can he be coming here for, and from 
the back way ? that is, if it’s him, which I don’t 
— why, how d’ye, Mr. Downs ? I didn’t know 
you at first ” 

“ You knewed me, Miss M’ria,” he answered, 
as he was shaking hands, “ but you knewed 
not these strange clothes, special cornin’ up the 
back way of a suddent like.” 

“ Might have been something in that,” she 
answered, trying to ignore another faint smile 
on Alley’s face. 


54 A bachelor's counselings 

“Come on business,” he said when seated, 
and with many carefully selected words he 
proceeded to tell what it was, looking at one 
and the other alternately. They answered 
promptly that they had not a doubt of the verity 
of his statements, and that the fence should be 
made to conform to the newly ascertained line. 

“ Well,” said the visitor, with as much heart- 
iness as he could command, “if you two had 
been a couple o’ men, which I’m thankful you 
ain’t, I’d ’a’ had to palarver and palarver about 
that line, and then maybe not satisfy ’em. But 
bein’ women, it’s done settled in short order. 
I’ll git Simyul Newsome to ride down there 
with me some time soon, so he can see they 
ain’t no doubts about it. You can trust Sim- 
yul, I know.” 

“ Certainly,” answered Miss Maria; “ but we 
can trust you just as well, Mr. Downs.” 

“I’m much obleeged;” and afterward he 
thought of a thousand more words which he 
could and would have said but that they did 
not occur to him until after he had left the 
house. 


A BACHELOR’S counselings 55 

When he reached home, he gave some swift 
orders to his foreman, and then, after putting 
off his finery, and getting into his every-day 
things, rode straight to the Newsomes’. When 
he got there, if it had been to save his own life, 
or even that of Sim, he could not have told ex- 
actly how he felt. He began as coolly as it 
was possible to try to assume to be : 

“ I’ve been over to the Kindricks’ this morn- 
in’, Simyul.” 

“ Ah ? I’m glad to hear it, Uncle Billy. I 
hope you found all well.” 

“Yes; I heard no complaint. No; I were 
down there by me and their fence, and I con- 
cluded I’d peeruse on up to the house and let 
them females know that I acc’dental found out 
that the fence weren’t exactly on the line be- 
twix’ us, but it run a leetle on my side. When 
I told ’em, they said they was perfect ricon- 
ciled to have it sot right. I told ’em I’d see 
you about it first, so you could see I weren’t 
mistakened, as I could show a cross-mark on a 
tree plain as open and shet. They ’lowed they 
was willin’ to trust ary one of us, me and you.” 


5 6 A bachelor’s counselings 

“ Of course, Uncle Billy. I would have 
known they’d ’a’ said that. About what differ- 
ence does it make ? ” 

“ I should say five acres, more or less, by the 
look of my eye.” 

“ All right; when you git ready, I’ll speak 
to them, and they’ll help you move the fence. 
I’ll take your word for it.” 

“ That’s what I sha’n’t do, Simyul, and that’s 
what I come to see you about.” 

“ Why, it’s nothing but right.” 

But in the tone of Mr. Downs and in his look 
was a firmness which convinced Sim that it 
would be useless to insist. 

“No, Simyul; not with the feelin’s and the 
respects I has for them females. You want to 
know what I done soon as I got home from 
there ? I called for Sam, I did, and I told him 
to let the hands drap everything, and go down 
there and tear down that fence, and then set it 
up again with sound rails, top to bottom, eend 
to eend, on the same line as before.” 

“ I can’t understand you, Uncle Billy.” 

“ I don’t wonder at you, Simyul, for nother 


A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 57 

can I understand myself, not square, straight 
up and down. But let me tell you fur as I can 
see down into my own insides.’' 

Here Mr. Downs felt his eyes begin to trem- 
ble; so he turned them away from Sim, and 
thus proceeded : 

“ When I got there in the cool o’ the morn- 
in’ like, and I see them couple o’ fine women 
asettin’ there in the piazzer, busy as two bees, 
and it look like the bein’ of a widder have im- 
proved Alley to that, I couldn’t but say to my- 
self, if it was me, and I was a young man, it 
seem like the sight of her would perfect blind 
a feller’s eye. And then I say to myself, what 
a pity ! because, when the time come, and Sim- 
yul Newsome and Miss M’ria Kindrick may see 
it their juty to be pardners, if for nothin’ else, 
for conven’ence, and then when the prop’ty is 
divided, I said to myself, I sha’n’t fence in that 
land, but I’ll leave it right whar it is, vallible 
as it is, and the timber that’s on it, I’ll leave it 
thar for the surwivor.” 

“ Why, law, Uncle Billy ! I and Cousin 
M’ria have no such notion.” 


58 A BACHELOR'S COUNSELINGS 

“ What ? ” cried Mr. Downs, turning upon 
Sim, his eyes dancing and his face aglow with 
smiles. “ Well, well, well ! Now my mind is 
easy, Simyul, which it hain’t been before, not 
sence they told me the breath were out o’ poor 
Jones’s body for good. I knewed it weren’t 
egzact the thing to be thinkin’ about it so year- 
ly, but the good Lord know I couldn’t he’p it, 
and I say to myself it do look like the good 
Lord have flung another chance in your way, 
after givin’ up so many times to Jones, which, 
poor feller, I hain’t nary a word to say ag’inst 
him, now he’s dead, and goned; but facts is 
facts, and I am now atalkin’ to you as a man 
o’ jedgment in this world, which no man, and 
I may say no’ nobody else, ever deparches from 
it tell they time come, and when it do, you can’t 
no more hender ’em from goin’ than you can 
hender the sun from settin’, and if he ever had 
a wife, the said wife is then cut loose, and that 
for good. Why, the very ’postle Paul writ that, 
Of course, you know, I ain’t sayin’ any thing 
ag’inst Jones, alayin’ where he is, and aleavin’ 
of a wife which for beautiful I never see but one 


A BACHELOR'S counselings 59 

which was beyond her; but that was before you 
was borned. Let that all go now.” 

Then with a gentle gesture he waved back 
the image of the love of his youth, and proceed- 
ed : 

“ But to begin where we lef off. When they 
told me that Jones, poor feller, have give up, it 
flash in my mind quick as thunder that it do 
look like Jones Kindrick have gone away peace- 
able and honor’ble, and flung his widder and 
his innercent infant on to you, aknowin’ that 
you would forgive him and do the best you 
could by both of ’em; and special when I did 
think on my soul this mornin’ she was pooty 
as a pink, spite o’ all her moanin’ caliker, I say 
to myself, there’s Simyul Newsome’s chance. 
As for the last surwivor, Miss M’ria, I’ll yit 
leave that line fence jest as it is.” 

Sim promised to ponder these words. 

VIII 

When one approaches and foresees the end 
of a story, detail is tiresome. Sim had prom- 
ised to ponder, and he did so with entire fidel- 


6o 


A bachelor’s counselings 


it y and some rapidity. Even yet he had not 
parted from all sense of the vast superiority 
of Jones over himself, and he looked with some 
dread upon the attempt to be a successor to 
such a man; but he remembered that he had 
given his promise to him to aid in having jus- 
tice done to his widow and child; then Alley 
was more beautiful, and looked sweeter than 
ever before, and — yes, he was obliged to ad- 
mit that he loved her. Sim Newsome, not- 
withstanding his humility, was a man who, 
when his mind was made up to do a thing, 
could go right along to it. So one day he 
went over there, and as soon as he had taken 
her hand and said good morning, he told her 
that he had come to ask if she would have him. 
Alley did not answer immediately, but stepped 
back to bring out a chair for him, and to see if 
Maria had gone out, as she knew that she was 
expecting to do. It was then that, holding her 
eyes down, and looking at her hands folded in 
her lap, she answered that she would. 

And now there were left Miss Maria and Mr. 
Downs. It would be a tedious recital of her 


A bachelor’s counselings 


6 i 


lonesomeness all by herself in that big house,, 
and the increased sense of it that lately had 
come to Mr. Downs in the smaller mansion 
which hitherto had been large enough to con- 
tain him and all his simple familiar things and 
ambitions. I could not say what influence in- 
terest in two romances had exerted upon a 
mind long unused to such things. But Jones 
Kindrick having gotten out of Sim’s way for 
good and all, and the latter no longer needing 
help to withstand his encroachings, Mr. Downs 
began to feel lonesome both for himself and for 
Miss Maria. I never knew, nor did anybody 
else, precisely how these two got together. 
In the economy of the world, provision is made 
somewhere for all legitimate wants. We have 
been taught by microscopic investigation that 
even the protoplasm, which has neither eyes, 
nor mouth, nor ears, nor hands, nor feet, not 
inside, nor outside, yet knows how to seek and 
find affiliation with its kind, if for nothing else, 
for comfort in its solitude. By some sort of 
quasi-involuntary, but always friendly move- 
ments, executed in a comparatively brief time 


62 


A bachelor’s counselings 


after Alley and her baby had been taken to the 
Newsome house, these two became one. Some 
people said that the continued multiplication 
of poor kin around them had something to do 
with it; but others argued that the winning 
card in the hands of Mr. Downs, so intended 
when he slipped it out of the pack, was that 
generous sacrifice which he had made for the 
survivor. 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


“ Meaner than sea-weed.” — H orace 

/^\N the piazza of Hines’s store, which stood 
at the crossroads, very near our house, 
men of the neighborhood used to gather on 
Saturday afternoon where, after making their 
little purchases, they lingered and chatted 
about things old and new. I, when a child, 
often went there with more or less permission, 
and listened with an interest which it has been 
always pleasant to me to recall. I remember 
one conversation in particular among some 
elderly men about various mean men who had 
been in their acquaintance, and the general 
conclusion was that in this respect one hard 
to beat was Jim Rakestraw. I propose to re- 
hearse one of the stories told about him. 

In all that region during his time nobody 
had ever heard of such a thing as the selling 
63 


6 4 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


of a dog. In the first place, dogs were far 
more plentiful than people, except individual 
owners, believed there was need for. Owners, 
of course (and everybody was an owner), be- 
lieved in the value of their own, and the general 
worthlessness of others. There was seldom a 
dog who did not have one friend; that was his 
master. Other people, as a rule, were either 
hostile to him or indifferent; and they often 
expressed surprise that the owner would con- 
sent to feed him for the worth that was in him. 
The municipal law did not countenance a suit 
asking damages for killing one, because it was 
a thing in which courts did not recognize prop- 
erty which was worthy of their consideration. 
Whenever a person had one which he cared 
not to keep for his own uses, it was dispatched 
— generally by drowning — unless a neighbor 
cared to have it, in which case it was given to 
him out and out, and no ado, not even of 
thanks, made about it. If a man had gone 
about offering to sell one of the things, he 
would have been regarded not much better 
than a dog, and it was right there that the 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


65 


especial meanness of Jim Rakestraw came in. 
The common law in this matter he was the 
only one in that whole settlement who had no 
more self-respect than to break, and that in a 
way that added to the disgrace. 

He was a tall, gaunt, big-footed, lazy fellow, 
with a wife, a houseful of children, and more 
dogs than these, including, sometimes, the 
sides of bacon that were in his smoke- 
house. With one exception, those dogs were 
hounds, and that of low degree, so low indeed 
that they would plunder hens’ nests, and even 
sneak into the dairy and the pantry, and help 
themselves to whatever they found there. 

Mrs. Rakestraw was an excellent, industri- 
ous, and extremely meek woman, who was 
trying to bring up her children well, and keep 
as decent a household as was possible in the 
circumstances. But Jim, too indolent to work, 
when not lounging about the house and yard, 
went roaming with his hounds; and he believ- 
ed, or pretended to believe, that the rabbits, 
squirrels, and opossums taken in these ex- 
cursions more than compensated for the ab- 


66 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


sence of what his family might have had, if 
he had been without this pack of greedy con- 
sumers, and tended properly the small but 
sufficient bit of ground which his wife had in- 
herited from her father. People used to say 
they wondered how such a nice woman could 
ever have married a good-for-nothing like Jim. 
Yet she was like many another, who, after get- 
ting a mean husband, and finding out how 
great and how incurable his meanness is, goes 
silently along, doing the best she knows how, 
and trying to look over faults which she has 
learned from experience that it is useless to 
endeavor to amend. 

On the place was a dog of which all the 
family except Jim was very fond. It was a 
handsome cur, neat, honest in his habits, de- 
voted to his mistress and her children, even 
down to the very baby in the cradle. Then to 
some degree he was a protector against those 
thieving hounds which, when not stretched on 
the ground, were everlastingly prowling about 
places where they had no business. At every 
fair chance Sailor could get, he bit one of them 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


67 


in the midst of his marauding, although he had 
been whipped by Jim several times for doing 
it. One day Jim said to his wife: 

“ Betsy, several people wants that dog Sail- 
or. Mr. Jenlcs, special, told me yisterday he’d 
like to have him for a guard-dog, and help in 
huntin’ up some wild hogs in his reed-bottoms 
on the creek; and I told him if you didn’t have 
any great objection to it, I ruther thought I’d 
let him take him. I didn’t say I would , positive 
and p’int-blank, because I ain’t sure in my mind 
that I can make a good thing out of it.” 

And he tried to look both innocent and wise; 
but he looked only sheepish and mean. 

“ Oh, dear me, laws, Mr. Rakestraw ! ” she 
answered, quickly. “ I’d hate to part from 
Sailor; and I just know the children would cry 
to see him go away from here. Why not let 
Mr. Jenks have one of the hounds ? You’ve got 
more of them than is needed, seems to me.” 

“ That I hain’t; not for the use Fve got for 
hounds. Them hounds brings in too many 
things to this family for me even to think 
about partin’ from one of them. No; not one 


68 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


single one of them , cert’n sure. Besides, Mr. 
Jenks already have now as many hounds as he 
want; and then he don’t want the breed of ’em 
mixed, so he say.” 

Several days passed, and from his silence 
they hoped that he had decided not to let 
Sailor go; but one night after supper he said: 

“ Betsy, as you seemed ruther ag’inst my 
givin’ away Sailor to Mr. Jenks, he said to me 
to-day when I met him on the road that he’d 
like to buy him; and he offered such a big pay 
for him that — fact of the business is, I thought 
it were my juty to take it; and I told him right 
down I’d do it.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Rakestraw ! Sell a dog , Mr. Rake- 
straw ! Why, I never heard of such a thing. 
I shall feel bad to see Sailor go; but I’d rather 
you’d give him to Mr. Jenks out and out than 
to sell him. I don’t know what people would 
think of us for selling such a thing as a dog, 
poor as we are. Indeed, Mr. Rakestraw, I’d 
be afraid of some sort of bad luck coming from 
it; that I would.” 

“ Well, now, as for my part, I can’t see how 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 69 

people should think strange of it; and if they 
did, it’s my business and not theirs. I’ve got 
along so fur myself by ’tendin’ to my own busi- 
ness, and other people may do the same. But y 
when a man, and a rich man at that, make me 
a offer of twenty dollars for a piece o’ prop’ty 
that’s no more account than that cur-dog, that 
he do nothin’ under the sun but lay around the 
house, and fight my hounds every chance he 
git, when he see my very eye ain’t on him, 
like it were him owns these whole preemerses, 
and not me, why, I say ag’in, it’s jes’ my very 
juty to take it; an’ my word is done passed to 
do it, and that to-morrow.” 

“Twenty dollars! That does seem a big 
price for — for a dog.” 

Indeed, they were so poor that to them it 
was a very large sum. 

The next day, fastening Sailor with a rope, 
Jim led him away. When they were out of 
sight the mother and some of the children 
cried a little; but soon they dried their eyes, 
and went to their work, such as were big 
enough, all trying to hope that everything 


70 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


would turn out for the best. Some little things 
were needed by Mrs. Rakestraw; but she de- 
cided that the portion of the money which her 
husband, considering that Sailor had been her 
own property, would allow to her, should be 
spent in getting some necessary things for the 
children. 

When Jim came home again he had on an 
air of much satisfaction, and bestowed general 
looks and words of kindness among the whole 
family for whom he had done such a fine thing. 
The little children occasionally glanced tow- 
ard his pockets, expecting, perhaps, to see 
them all swelled out with those moneys so 
much vaster than what they had ever seen in 
all their lives. He made no sign as to whether 
at all, or in what proportions, it was on his 
mind to distribute among them; and, of course, 
not one in the family made any allusion to the 
matter. Next morning, after eating breakfast, 
and calling up his hounds, he said: 

“ Betsy, I’m goin’ ahuntin’ this mornin’. 
’Twasn’t exactly convenant yisterday, and so 
Mr. Jenks said he’d send the pay for Sailor 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


71 


over here some time about 9 o’clock. Take 
keer of ’em tell I git back, won’t you ? and 
don’t let the children go to handlin’ nor med- 
dlin’ in no ways.” 

“All right, Mr. Rakestraw,” she answered, 
meekly; “ I’ll do like you say.” 

About two hours after, as, with her sewing, 
she sat before the cabin door, she heard the 
yard gate opened and shut. Looking up, she 
saw advancing a negro boy, having under 
either arm what seemed an awkwardly wrap- 
ped bundle. As the comer approached she 
recognized in him one of Mr. Jenks’s servants, 
and the bundles proved to be a couple of very 
young hound puppies. 

“ Mawnin’, Mis’ Rakesaw ! ” greeted the boy, 
with a hearty grunt. “ De Lord know I’m 
tired atotin’ o’ dem hot, wigglin’, squirmin’ 
puppies; that’s the ill-conwentest load /ever 
went anywhar to k’yar.” 

“ Howd’y, Peter. What on earth are you 
going to do with those wretched little things ?” 

For, indeed, wearied with travel in a way so 
unusual, the little beasts looked intensely for- 


72 PARTING FROM SAILOR 

lorn, and when put upon the ground let forth 
howlings so pitiful that the baby in the cradle 
near by, waking up, knew no better than to 
join with his utmost in the chorus. 

“ Marster sent ’em to Mis’ Rakesaw,” said 
Peter. “ Dee traded ’twix’ dem en de dog 
he fotch yisterday to our house. It pears like 
your baby skeer’t of ’em.” 

“ My good gracious ! ” she exclaimed, but 
instantly her womanly delicacy put itself for- 
ward. Lifting the baby, and giving it to one 
of the older children to quiet, she said to the 
boy: 

“ All right, Peter; did your master send any 
word ?” 

“ No’m. Marster say I jes’ got to fetch de 
puppies here, en den come on back. Good-by, 
Mis’ Rakesaw.” 

“ Good-by, Peter. I’m much obliged to you.” 

I couldn’t tell the disappointment, the sense 
of humble hopelessness, nor the less humble 
submission. Yet there was some relief in that 
her husband had not sold the dog for money, 
a thing which she had feared might have low- 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 73 

ered him yet further in people’s opinions. Put- 
ting the whelps in as fit a place as she could 
find, and feeding them to their fill with milk 
and bread-crumbs, she cautioned the children 
against showing to their father any disposition 
to complain, then went back to her work. 

Notwithstanding the squirrel and the two 
rabbits brought by Jim, when returned from 
his hunt, and despite the thickness of whatever 
it was that covered the heart that was in him, 
on his face was a look of some little conscious- 
ness of meanness. Yet it was easily repressed, 
and he cried, triumphantly: 

“Now, ain’t they beauties, Betsy? They 
come o’ that breed o’ long-legged hounds were 
sent to Mr. Jenks all the way from South Cal- 
lina, and the stock of ’em run back clean plum 
up to the Revolution war; and Mr. Jenks said, 
and he said it sollom, that, ’twern’t so many in 
the last litter he could spar’ a couple of ’em, 
nobody could git ’em for love or money. And 
he said he wanted Sailor, and if I said so, I 
might have a couple for him. Now I vallied 
them puppies in my mind, I did; I vallied ’em 


74 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 


at ten dollars apiece, and cheap at that; for it 
ain’t anigh what they’d fetch, if people was to 
begin biddin’ ag’inst one ’nother fur ’em, know- 
in’ how fur their mammy come from, and how 
fur back the stock of ’em runs.” 

He was content with the silence which, as 
was habitual with his wife, followed his boast- 
ing. 

This was told by old Mr. Pate, who, after 
the rehearsal, thus commented: 

“ In my time I don’t know the numbers of 
good, fine women that has had mean, triflin’ 
men for their husband, albe I can’t deny that 
sometimes, not often, but sometimes, the boot 
have been on t’other leg, as the sayin’ is. I’ve 
studied a heap on it, and my mind have about 
got to conclude that the good Lord ordered it 
so, aknowin’ it weren’t best for the same kind 
o’ people to jes couple and huddle together by 
theirselves. It’s that, or somethin’ else, cert’n. 
But as for Jim Rakestraw, well, my opinion of 
him have always been, and special after his 
meanness about that cur-dog and them hound- 
puppies, that whoever want to go about 


PARTING FROM SAILOR 75 

alookin* for a meaner husband, and a meaner 
man of family in gener’l than what Jim Rake- 
straw were, he got to git up and start on the 
hunt soon in the mornin’.” 




TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


“Alas, regardless of their doom. 

The little victims play.” 

— Ode on Eton College 

I 

I N the village of Sangston was a school of 
about fifty boys, including ten or a dozen 
boarders. They were not thought too many, 
but rather too much, for the last teacher, a man 
of uncombative disposition and only ordinary 
physical strength; and so when he had to run 
away, as it were, in search of a less arduous 
job elsewhere, the patrons, hearing what a 
famous disciplinarian was Mr. Isaiah Cubbedge, 
who had been practising his profession in an- 
other village some fifty miles south, invited him 
to come and try what he could do with the ma- 
terial on hand. He was a tall, wiry, pale gen- 
tleman, hungry-looking as unhealthy, although 

it was said that he never missed at home a 
76 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


77 


meal’s full victuals, nor a day’s, nor a part of a 
day’s attendance at school. He seemed to de- 
sire to visit little and be visited less, his mind 
being occupied entirely with studying how to 
manage his business. He was thought to be 
the very man that the Sangston people wanted 
to manage these boys, of whom old Mr. Big- 
ger had said that unless somebody could be 
gotten suited for that purpose they were bound 
to take the whole town. A man of few words 
outside was Mr. Cubbedge, and a deep, low 
voice, inquiring but not confiding in its tone. 
Among his features, perhaps the most interest- 
ing was his nose. It started out modestly, 
even as if timidly, from the narrow space be- 
twixt his small, deep-set, gray, ever-moving 
eyes, and seemed to feel that it had no need of 
a bridge worth speaking about. But after pass- 
ing beyond the position where the bridge, if 
one had been deemed necessary, would have 
been built, it began to lift itself up, and kept 
on lifting and diminishing until it came to a 
point where it looked cunning as inquisitive. 
When he was talking to people, or being talked 


78 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


to by them, his eyes fluttered all over and 
around them as if seeking for the most unguard- 
ed place for his nose to pierce. The boys used 
to say that what made him so lean and sickly- 
looking was the eternal watch which he put 
upon them, while constant exercise in flogging 
kept up his appetite. Having come there with 
a great name for discipline, he acted as if he 
meant to hold on to it and, if possible, exalt it 
to yet sublimer heights. His education was 
not of the best; but it was regarded good 
enough for the discipline, which was the main 
thing. One boy boarded with him. His fa- 
ther, hearing what a great thing the discipline 
was to be, wanted him to get all the possible 
good of it. We shall see that he did so. 

School-boys like to try the metal of a new 
master. These, fifty strong, said in private 
that they would have to be made to see how 
they could not dodge any such man. For 
dodging was the limit of their ambition. Every 
one knew that if he either resisted or ran away 
from the discipline, he would be brought back 
and made to take, perhaps, a double portion. 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 79 

Such was the temper of the times, which now 
seems so strange. 

To outsiders (particularly Mr. John Overby, 
who, having been through such a regime, was 
thankful to have come out no worse hurt) it 
was funny to notice how soon, after the coming 
of Mr. Cubbedge, the hope of dodging him had 
nothing to stand upon. In school, out, study- 
time, play-time, daytime, night-time, seldom 
any mischief could be done — singly, in couples, 
in threes, in large gangs — that would not be 
detected, when punishment of some grade was 
sure to follow. Some good men in Sangston 
and its vicinity were thankful, and were led to 
indulge some hope for the young when they 
heard that Mr.. Cubbedge spent so much 
time in ferreting out and punishing evil do- 
ings. He was not a bloodthirsty man, like 
some of his class used to be. He seldom cut 
with his hickory or his peachy tree below the 
skin, however much he might be fond of strip- 
ing it; but his chief pride was to show, inside 
and outside, that it was not worth a school- 
boy’s while to try to fool him. Little Billy 


8o 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


Wiggins, who was caught and whipped at 
least once a day, used to attribute his bad luck 
to the nose which in vain I have endeavored 
to describe. 

“ His old nose is everlastin’ turned up and 
alookin’ around, and it can smell same as a 
hound.” 

The name of the favored boarder was New- 
ton Pollock. He was undergrown for fourteen, 
and had a dark, though mild face, except when 
he was engaged in mischief. The belief of 
Billy Wiggins in the nose came from Newt, 
who told him and others that Mr. Cubbedge 
had a kind of soap with which he polished it 
every night, so as to keep it keen, alert, and 
investigative. All pitied poor little Newt, liv- 
ing right there in the very house of Mr. Cub- 
bedge, yet, foolhardy as he was, hoping to es- 
cape his watch, and a limited sadness was fondly 
indulged when he told of the whippings he got 
almost every night of his life under the peach- 
tree at the back of the Cubbedge garden. For 
Mr. Cubbedge, standing for the time being in 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


8l 


the place of Newt’s father, administered his pun- 
ishments within the domestic circle. His pa- 
rents must not be disappointed of their great 
expectations from his peculiar privilege. Jim 
Brantly, a boy of seventeen, one of the leaders 
in sports, mischief, and general school-boy 
unlicensed achievements, habitually said: 

“I’d simply just die before I would board 
with him ! In the place of his father ! Yes, 
and his mother, and his big brothers and sis- 
ters, and his uncles and aunts, and the over- 
seer, even him to have an occasional whack at 
the poor little fellow ! Don’t talk to me about 
old Cubbedge being Newt’s father. It makes 
me sick to hear him name the very name.” 

Yet Newt, who claimed to be as tough as 
whalebone, said he could stand it, and would 
stand it, rather than get his share of fun, or run 
away to be brought back for worse. Then Mrs. 
Cubbedge, a fattish woman, whose main des- 
tiny, as it seemed, was to get up good meals 
for her husband, let the latter do all the scold- 
ing and punishing in the family, and Newt 
thought that sometimes she looked as if she 


82 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


would like to give him some advice if she could 
ever find an opportunity. On the whole, his 
endurance and his temerity got much admira- 
tion. This was carried to a high degree one 
day, when, as Mr. Cubbedge was passing along 
the line with his switches of assorted sizes, 
Newt came up, and, in a sort of bold humility, 
said: “ Mr. Cubbedge, I wish you would give 
me my whippin’ along of the other boys.” 

The master momentarily smiled; then be- 
stowing a stern, parental look, answered: “ Do 
you go straight back to your seat, Newt Pol- 
lock. I’m responsible to your natchuril father 
for you, sir, and I shall attend to you how and 
when and where it suit my convenance and 
my duty as a parrent.” 

Newt slunk back, feeling ever so badly. The 
boys thought it showed enormous pluck. 

II 

The many guises of Mr. Cubbedge, and their 
many findings were commented on much — for 
the most part favorably. 

“ The very man we’ve been wanting for these 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


83 


boys,” said old Mr. Bigger. He had no young 
children, but perhaps took more interest in 
things than if he had had a houseful. Pro- 
nounced in opinions, feeling himself the equal 
of any in argumentation, he was fond of tack- 
ling Overby, a large, good-tempered young 
lawyer, who had not joined in the praise be- 
stowed upon the new teacher. Mr. Bigger 
hoped to remove the difficulties in the way of 
his understanding by persistent appeals. 

“ Yes, sir, Johnny Overby, the very man the 
Sangston boys needed to head them in their 
pranks. If it wasn’t for Mr. Cubbedge there’s 
no telling what people would do : gates 
changed all over town, fences built across 
the street, wheels took off and hid everywhere, 
and, as for strawberries and May-apples, it’s 
come to that it ain’t worth a body’s while to 
try to raise such as them even as it is.” 

“ Have you noticed, Mr. Bigger,” said Over- 
by, “ that there are more of such things since 
than before Mr. Cubbedge came ? ” 

“ Now, Johnny Overby,” replied Mr. Bigger, 
in immediate disputant mood, “ that’s like a 


8 4 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


lawyer pleading a case when justice, if not law, 
is on the other side. I’m not talking like a 
lawyer, but like a plain, honest man, and I say 
it shows the good of d’s’ipline, and if somebody 
can’t find out the boys of this generation in 
their badness, why, old people will have to 
give up everything to them, and I have knew 
school-boys, Johnny Overby, ever since long 
before you was born, and I have never knew 
them as bad as they are now, and agetting 
worse every day.” 

It was only a day or two back that Mr. Big- 
ger had been roused from sleep too early one 
morning by his driver (who had instructions 
to carry to the mill a grist of corn) by news 
that the hind wheels of his wagon were on the 
front axle, the fore wheels on the hind, and the 
tongue clean gone. It had taken full two 
hours to get things out of confusion, and go on 
to the mill in peace. It was some consolation 
that Mr. Cubbedge, to whom the outrage had 
been reported, had detected and punished the 
parties engaged in it. A good man was Mr. 
Bigger, but fiery, and by the boys regarded as 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


85 


their enemy. Then they were fond of hearing 
accounts of his mighty wrath and threatenings 
when such tricks were played upon him. 

In the discussion, which was long, and on 
Mr. Bigger’s part quite animated, the young 
man argued mainly that, in his opinion, the 
fame of Mr. Cubbedge would be put on a firmer 
foundation if he could prevent crimes, instead 
of detecting them after their commission. 
When, wearied by what was a mere war of 
words, he was about to turn away, Mr. Overby 
said: 

“ Well, Mr. Bigger, in the case of Mr. Cub- 
bedge and his famous discipline, I beg to enter 
an appeal.” 

“ An appeal ? What do you mean by that, 
sir ? ” 

“ I appeal to the future. My opinion is that 
matters are going to get worse.” 

The old man looked at him with angry 
compassion as he moved on toward his office. 
But Overby’s appeal was justified. Hen- 
roosts began to be robbed, especially that of 
Mr. Bigger, and in spite of Mr. Cubbedge’s dis- 


86 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


guises and prowlings, no trace of a stolen 
chicken, alive or dead, could be found. Hear- 
ing that Overby had laughed at this news, Mr. 
Bigger, meeting him upon the main street, ac- 
costed him thus: 

“ Now, Johnny Overby, you are obliged to 
acknowledge that for such as that there isn’t 
a solitary grain of excuse, and I just want to 
put you one question, if you’ll answer it fair 
and square. Do you love chicken, or do you 
not ? ” 

“ I do, sir — much, very much.” 

The old man looked around among the by- 
standers and said, “Gentlemen, you see he 
has given up the whole case.” 

A hearty laugh arose, in which Overby join- 
ed as merrily as the rest of the audience; then 
he said: “Yes, Mr. Bigger, you have me there; 
but what about Mr. Cubbedge ? Why don’t he 
detect the boys and punish them ? ” 

“Just because he can't, sir. I put the case 
before him, and he says it’s altogether too 
much for him; that he has set up, and gone 
around time and time again at night, and he 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


87 


just can’t. He say somebody must be in it 
besides school - boys; but I don’t believe it 
myself.” 

By this time all except these two had walk- 
ed away. Then the lawyer, with an air of 
much mystery, in a low voice, said: “ Those 
chickens were not stolen by the boys, Mr. Big- 
ger. If they were, Mr. Cubbedge would have 
found out every single case.” 

Then he broke off suddenly, as if on press- 
ing business at his office. Mr. Bigger looked 
at him steadily for several moments, then 
slowly followed. 

“Johnny Overby,” he said, when seated in 
the back room, “ you looked just now like you 
knewed who’d been robbin’ them hen-roosts.” 

“ I do not, Mr. Bigger. If I did, of course I 
would give information; but I believe I can 
find out.” 

“ Well, sir, if you can, I’ll see that you are 
paid a good fee, and I’ll tell you mostly for 
why. If they get two little Dominickers that 
I’m tryin’ to raise, to get into the breed of, I 
shall get so mad that I’m afraid I’ll say things 


88 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


that I’ll have to be had up in the church 
for.” 

“ Would you recognize those chickens if you 
were to see them in a strange, unexpected 
place, Mr. Bigger ? ” 

“Why, yes, man. I could swear to them in 
the moon.” 

“ Then, sir, if you can be perfectly quiet 
upon the subject, and not mention the word 
chicken in public, my opinion is that I can find 
out the thief — at least one of them.” 

A week afterward the day was bleak, and 
was followed by a very dark night. Near mid- 
night, at the signal of a whistle on the rear 
premises of an inexpensive mansion, the mas- 
ter of a small family came out quietly, and was 
met by a negro man with a basket of chickens. 
The price asked being more reasonable than 
when sold by daylight, and a twist or two of 
tobacco being accepted in barter, the buyer 
and the seller, the basket held between them, 
were about to move toward the hen-roost when 
the sheriff, with a posse of three, headed by 
Mr. Bigger, rushed forth. When a light was 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


8 9 


struck, and two young Dominicas — a rooster 
and a pullet — were taken from the basket, and 
found to be sound in wind and limb, the good 
man shed tears. Perhaps these were more pro- 
fuse because the buyer was — Mr. Cubbedge ! 

It was a pitiful sight; there under the peach- 
tree, so many of whose twigs had been torn 
away for putting parental discipline upon Newt 
Pollock’s little back. The nose of Mr. Cub- 
bedge, after its many findings, seemed so dis- 
gusted with this last that, if practicable, it 
would turn and take itself far away, after pierc- 
ing one by one the invaders of his premises. 

“ I had to see it with my own eyes to believe 
it ! ” said Mr. Bigger; “ and hadn't been for 
Mr. Triplett that helt me up, I’d ’a’ fell plump 
on my head aclimbing over them palings.” 

It was Saturday night. They agreed not to 
prosecute if the culprit would leave the village 
by Monday morning. His wife refused to ac- 
company him, and after a few days went back to 
her people. She said that she had often remon- 
strated against her husband’s trading with ne- 
groes, and she expressed the opinion that he 


90 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


was partially insane. The poor woman had 
to believe something, you know, to mitigate 
the shame she felt. 

111 

And now what was to be done for those ev- 
erlasting school-boys, as Mr. Bigger called 
them ? The exiled school-master went away, 
not wholly without that gentleman’s respect. 

“I’m a man that’ll give even a dog all the 
credit he deserves. I owned a first-rate ’pos- 
sum hound once, but he were caught sucking 
eggs, and suspicioned of running after sheep, 
and so I made the niggers kill him. I give 
Mr. Cubbedge credit for finding out what I'd ’a’ 
never done, and hadn’t been his own self that 
had them chickens stole he’d ’a’ found out that 
too. You see there was where the poor man 
was lacking.” 

It was about the middle of the school term. 
After some persuasion Overby agreed to take 
charge for the remainder. One of the citizens 
took Newt Pollock into his house to stay until 
his father’s wishes could be known. 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 91 

“ I’m afraid Johnny Overby ain’t fit for the 
business,” said Mr. Bigger. “ He caught Mr. 
Cubbedge sleek as a bean, but I have my 
doubts if he can catch them boys, because, you 
see, he likes ’em so well that he have confi- 
dence in ’em, when everybody knows that a 
school-boy is a school-boy, and always will be 
till he’s quit and been put to work. Still, I say 
this in confidence to everybody, because it’s the 
best parrents can do for the present, and I don’t 
want to discourage him in the very first off- 
start.” 

At the end of the first day the new teacher 
said among his friends: “ These boys until 
to-day seemed to like me. Yet this morning, 
as soon as I had entered the room, I saw that 
I was regarded as an enemy and a spy. My 
first impulse was to drag down an armful of 
hickories from Cubbedge’s rack, and go to- 
thrashing around generally for the imputed in- 
sult that I had ceased to be a gentleman on 
the instant of getting into their collected pres- 
ence. It was too easy, however. Then I re- 
flected that they had never had opportunity to- 


<02 TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 

learn better behavior. It is a more embar- 
rassing thing than I expected, and I’m almost 
sorry that I undertook it. However, I am going 
to do something with those chaps, see if I don’t.” 

About the practical jokes played upon the 
citizens during several consecutive nights he 
said not a word, being employed in efforts to 
•convince the boys that his mission there was 
mainly to teach in books, a thing which had 
been secondary during the late administra- 
tion. One morning Mr. Bigger, finding every 
vehicle on his lot without wheels, and every 
enclosure without gates, rushed with as furious 
haste as his advanced age would allow down 
into the village, and inquired of Mr. Overby 
what he was going to do about it. 

“ Nothing, Mr. Bigger. My hands are full 
of business of my own.” Then he went on to 
the school-house. 

“ Well, if it wasn’t for my little Dominickers, 
I ain’t shore — ” But Mr. Bigger stopped, 
knowing, on sudden reflection, that it would 
not be right to give expression to the thought 
that was on his mind. So he looked at Mr. 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 93 

Overby’s back, and said, “ He’s done failed 
a’ready, just as I said he would.” 

The teacher’s omission to take notice of the 
matter was a disappointment all around, for 
your school-boy does not wish to be ignored 
entirely when he has been striving to produce 
much excitement. The floggings gotten for 
mere idleness were so inane that they were dis- 
gusted, and in a conclave of the most daring a 
conspiracy was made to do something which it 
was believed would rouse this new young mas- 
ter to a higher sense of the duties and difficul- 
ties of his position. The very next morning, 
when he entered, the school-room was a sight 
which, if it had been Mr. Bigger, would have 
endangered his being called up before the 
church sure enough at the earliest Conference. 

As it was, Overby laughed. There were the 
desks and benches turned backward, sideways, 
all ways except the right, and all crossed and 
piled, piled and crossed. When he had taken 
his fill of laughter he pondered for a moment 
or so, then said : 

‘‘As matters here are in no case for business,. 


94 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


and as I have some at my office, I shall go to 
it, and not return before to-morrow morning, 
at which time it is probable that I shall dismiss 
this school for good, write to the parents of the 
boarding pupils to send for them, and advise 
that all of you be put to work rather than waste 
time in such fooleries as this. Before I do 
break up, however, I shall call the roll, and 
ask every boy to answer upon his honor, if he 
has not lost what sense of it he was born with, 
what part he had in this funny business. I 
don’t know but that I might like to keep a 
school, if I could get a set of boys who would 
give some promise of becoming in time the gen- 
tlemen their fathers are. But, by-by till to- 
morrow.” 

These words were effective. Not a boarder 
wanted to be called home, nor a native to be 
put to work. They rearranged the furniture, 
then parted in silence, disgusted every one with 
the rest. An hour afterward, Newt Pollock, 
going by an unaccustomed street, repaired to 
Overby’s office, where, thankful to find him 
alone, he immediately said, 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 95 

“ I’ve come to tell you, Mr. Overby, who all 
mixed up them benches and things.” 

“ Were you one of them, Newton ? ” 

“ I done a little bit, sir; but Jim Brantly and 
them—” 

“Stop, sir ! If you mention another boy’s 
name, I’ll break your neck ! Look at me, 
boy ! Was it through you that Mr. Cubbedge 
found out so much about the mischief of the 
boys? I knew it was somebody. Was it you ? ” 

“Yes, sir; it was me sometimes.” 

“ And didn’t you know that such as that was 
the meanest thing that a white man’s son could 
be guilty of?” 

“ I didn’t think it was all right, Mr. Overby; 
but Mr. Cubbedge told me, and pa said I must 
do every thing he told me.” 

“ What made him beat you so much, then ? 
They tell me he wore out a whole peach-tree 
on you.” 

“Never struck me a lick in his life.” 

“ Well, well ! Look here, boy, did you know 
that that man was in the habit of trading with 
negroes for stolen property ? ” 


96 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


“ I never dreamed of it, Mr. Overby. I give 
you my word I didn’t.” 

He looked at him narrowly for a moment, 
then said: “I believe you, my poor boy. 
Some day you’ll find out how near you’ve been 
to ruin. Go away now. Don’t you say a word 
about this conversation. If those boys were to 
know what you offered to tell me, they’d tear 
you to pieces or run you out of town, and be 
right in doing it. Go on. Shut the door when 
you’re out.” 

IV 

Overby walked in the next morning, keep- 
ing his hat in hand, as if he had called merely 
for a brief visit while on his way to an impor- 
tant engagement somewhere else. He ap- 
peared to be in the best of tempers. 

The boys sat silent and sad and orderly, 
showing that every one, native and foreign, 
had been talked with. The young man’s pur- 
pose was to get parental influence in the direc- 
tion which he believed most appropriate. The 
solemnest, humblest-looking was poor little 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 97 

Newt, who shrank as a mouse in reach of any 
number of cats and kittens. 

“ Well,” said the master, promptly, intent on 
despatching at once the little business of his 
call, “how goes it? How do you all feel your- 
selves this morning ? You look calm and 
healthy. I am going to begin with calling the 
roll, and as I proceed, I want those who in 
anywise took part in the disorder here yester- 
day morning to rise. I expect every boy to 
answer for himself alone. If any one informs, 
or shows that he wants to inform against an- 
other, I shall drive him out with the biggest 
stick that Mr. Cubbedge has left; and if I am 
to stay here (which in a few minutes I will 
make up my mind whether or not to do), I 
shall do the same with any whom I may find 
hereafter to have answered me falsely. Those 
who may expect to do this will save time and 
trouble if they will make for their hats and take 
themselves off. All ready ? Here goes.” 

Thirty-one rose. 

“ High ! Quite a batch ! I knew that it re- 
quired numbers to finish up that job so com- 


98 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


pletely. When the time comes for you to be 
pv’it to real work, your parents and employers 
v/ill find you handy enough. I’ve no doubt 
''Chat every one has answered truly. Now sit 
down and listen to me for a few minutes, as I 
have just this minute made up my mind to keep 
with you at least awhile longer.” 

After they were seated, he had a talk with 
them, of which the following was a part : 

“As far as I know or believe, the father of 
every boy in this school is what is generally 
called in society a gentleman. Now a gentle- 
man will always hold himself responsible for 
his own actions, and he never utters a deliber- 
ate falsehood. Gentlemen sometimes do put 
upon one another practical jokes; but they are 
never such as wound feelings, do injuries, 
or subject to serious inconvenience. Some of 
those which you boys have been playing upon 
several citizens of this village must not be re- 
peated if I remain at the head of this school. For 
I will not that anything that I have to do with 
shall be regarded by my neighbors as a nui- 
sance. Another thing. A gentleman never 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


99 


puts himself on the sly with others, and nobody 
ever needs to be put on the sly with him. Now 
I maintain that a boy can be and that he is 
bound to be as much a gentleman as any man, 
and that he will be if he be treated so as to be 
made to feel that such is expected of him. 
The unhappy man who was lately in this place, 
not a man of honor himself, had never learned 
how to deal with those who are. You saw into 
what misfortune he was led by this ignorance. 
Perhaps some persons, a very few, suspected 
you of the crime by which he was disgraced. 
I did not. 

“ A few words now about myself. What I 
claim, so far as you all are concerned, is that 
I am a gentleman, bound by every obligation 
to be one, and that I have education enough 
to teach what your parents wish you to know 
about text-books. I know not how else to 
deal with you than in the plain ways common 
among gentlemen everywhere. I will not 
watch you in secret. At the same time I say 
to you frankly that I am easy to believe what 
people tell me with expectation for me to be- 


IOO 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


lieve. But you shall not report to me against 
one another, except as to such things as, for 
your own protection, I ought to know. Even 
in that event, I should rather that you would 
first give information to your own parents or 
guardians. Whatever comes to me must come 
with the knowledge of the one who is to be in- 
formed against. If any of you should prove too 
indolent, or otherwise too reckless of the 
wishes of your friends in your behalf, to meet 
my efforts for their improvement, I shall send 
them home ; for it suits not my tastes to 
habitually beat other people’s children. Now 
I like you, boys, and you used to seem to like 
me before I came here. I cannot understand 
how such an action should make me forfeit 
your friendship and kind opinions. In that re- 
gard I am going to hope to be reinstated. 

“ On this plan I have undertaken for a short 
time to keep this school. Whomsoever it suits, 
let them stay. If there are any whom it suits 
not, let them gather up their things and go 
home.” 

When Newt Pollock’s father had come in 


TWO ADMINISTRATIONS 


IOI 


answer to Overby’s letter, he was sorely dis- 
tressed to find how he had been used, and he 
inquired, although none could answer, where 
Mr. Cubbedge might be found. It was touch- 
ing how he pleaded Newt’s limited understand- 
ing in extenuation of his behavior, and ex- 
pressed his thanks that it had not been made 
known in the school. 

Mr. Bigger could never quite understand 
how changes so salutary could have been 
wrought, except by constant use of the hickory 
or the peach tree. Waking up of mornings, 
finding that not a wheel nor a gate had been 
disturbed, he looked sometimes as if he were 
disappointed, and inwardly indulging gloomy 
prophesyings. You see, everything was so en- 
tirely against time-honored precedents. For 
a time his manner toward Overby was some- 
what reserved ; but when he found that the 
young man showed no disposition to taunt or 
to boast, and when his young Dominicas had 
grown up and taken their proud places in the 
barn-yard, he seemed to feel that, as an hon- 
orable man, he ought to strive to be reconciled. 


ALMOST A WEDDING IN DOOLY 
DISTRICT 


“ Dwell I but in the suburbs 
Of your good pleasure ? ” 

—Julius Ccesar 

I 

M ISS EMELINE LYNCH, independent 
and honorable as she was, would not 
have thanked anybody who knew it to go 
about making a blowing horn of the numerical 
rank held by herself among five sisters, the 
youngest of whom, imitating, with this single 
exception, her elders, had been married long 
enough to have several children, more or less 
interesting. At the period of this little episode 
in her personal history she was indisputably 
at the head of her aged father’s house, and so 
had been since the death of her mother ten 
years back. Well aware that everybody knew 

of her not having remained single for total 
102 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 103 

lack of opportunities, she was entirely cool in 
discoursing upon such matters. 

“As for marrying,” she not unfrequently 
said, “and the marrying of women partic’lar, 
that’s a question that have two sides to it. 
Because, ever since and before I was too young 
and giddisome to know much better, I have 
been anoticing that there’s many a girl mar- 
ries, and after she have married, and been mar- 
ried long enough to find out what they is in it 
to their cost, it looked too plain to me that 
they feel like if it was to do over again, they 
wouldn’t. But then you know, and they do too, 
that it’s then everlasting too late to be making 
a big to-do about it, like the poor girl in the 
spelling-book pictur’, that she look so pitiful 
and not expected at her pitcher in her hand, 
and her milk spill’t on the ground, that some- 
times I’m a’most always sorry for her, spite of 
her keerlessness in not alooking where she 
was atreading with her feet. Now I never 
have said that I wouldrtt marry, that is never 
and at no time, make no odds who it was asked 
me. For they is nobody that know positive 


104 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


what they may do sometime or another, when 
things may happen that their mind will alter. 
For, as for women, all so be I’m one of ’em 
myself according to the app’intment of the 
good Lord, I hain’t come yet to any settled 
conclusion, what they will do and what they 
won’t when they take the notion. Pap some- 
times says I ought to get married, because he’s 
getting old, and I ought to have somebody to 
look up to when he’s gone. But I tell him 
they are two sides to that question too, the 
looking up, or, as to that, the looking down, 
or around in gener’l. But to get married, just 
to say I am married, as some do, to keep from 
being called a old maid, I am not one of that 
kind. I’ve seen too much to the contrairey.” 

The old man, Johnny Lynch, had been liv- 
ing where he was ever since his marriage. 
The mansion, originally a double cabin of 
hewed logs, had been added to in one or an- 
other modest, irregular way, as the needs of 
his increasing family required. So he had add- 
ed to his inherited acres from time to time, 
and now, after giving over to each of his daugh- 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


105 


ters upon marriage what dowry could be spared, 
he was not in debt, and even had a little money 
out among his neighbors. If he had known 
how dependent he was upon this good daugh- 
ter, possibly he would have been less con- 
cerned about her forming a connection which 
must have subtracted from that in which both 
were living in content. But he had been hap- 
py as a married man; his other daughters on 
the average had done reasonably well, and so, 
somehow, he was anxious that Emeline should 
not be left to live alone. 

It was in that section of the county next 
from ours across the Ogeechee River, known 
as Dooly District, wherein were large bodies of 
piney-woods land, which, although much less 
productive than those in the upper region cov- 
ered by oak, hickory and their likes, yet sup- 
ported a large number of families who were 
content with such returns as moderate in- 
dustry could get from them. Hitherto they 
had submitted without much complaining to 
be regarded inferior to those at the county 
seat and the parts around and northward, 


IO 6 ALMOST A WEDDING 

representatives from whom held, as if by in- 
herent right, the principal public offices, polit- 
ical and municipal. Lately the righteousness 
of this precedent a few had begun to question, 
none so noisily as Jeffrey Hammick, justice of 
the peace, who had his residence and the 
holdings of his court at the crossroads, three 
miles from the Lynches’. He had an excellent, 
hard-working wife, who had done her very 
best in the performance of every duty; but he 
was one who probably would have been poor 
and continued poor, wherever he might have 
lived and whatever vocation he might have 
followed. He liked this office because it re- 
quired little work to be done, brought him in 
frequent contact with people, let him often hold 
in his hands moneys, although knowing that, 
except his costs, he must turn them over to 
others, and feel that thus he might be more 
surely on the line of future promotion. All of 
the children except one had gone away, the 
girls marrying poorly, and those whom the 
boys took to wife doing likewise. Only Patsy 
was left, who was small for fifteen, of weak un- 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


107 

derstanding which there had been few oppor- 
tunities to cultivate even to a degree that was 
possible, yet tolerably pretty, and lately get- 
ting somewhat rid of her palishness, and show- 
ing signs, modestly however, that she was will- 
ing to be noticed by young men. She knew 
that she wasn’t bright, and this made her seem 
humbly thankful for attentions, however incon- 
siderable. As she was, she became now the 
extremest hope of her mother. They dwelt in 
a double cabin, with two small shed rooms be- 
hind, which for years and years the wife had 
been vainly hoping would be bettered in one 
way or another. 

Squire Hammick, among his many goings 
about and talkings, had picked up a good deal 
of information of one sort and another; and he 
was never without hope of being able to em- 
ploy it upon a broader plane. By this time 
patrician rule, which long had been almost ex- 
clusive in middle Georgia, had begun to yield to* 
democratic invasion, and goodly numbers of men 
from several of the counties were being elect- 
ed to the General Assembly who, though pos- 


108 ALMOST A WEDDING 

sessed of good properties, understood much less 
about enacting laws than running plantations. 
Several such had been chosen in this very 
county, but in no instance from Dooly District. 
Hammick of late had been calling frequent at- 
tention to this fact on Court Saturdays, and he 
believed that he was making some impression. 
Even if such an honor had come down there 
he knew that he could hardly count upon be- 
ing its first recipient; but then it would be a 
beginning of better times in whose fruits he 
might confidently expect to share. Before any 
active movement was begun on this line an in- 
teresting stranger came into the district. 

II 

The newcomer, calling himself Putnam Da- 
vison, and claiming to be a native of one of the 
lower counties in South Carolina, was a slen- 
der, darkish, not ill-looking person, apparently 
between thirty-five and forty. His small, bright 
gray eyes looked as if in their time they had 
seen many more things than were known to the 
simple folk of that community, among whom 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT IOp 

it was a surprise that such a man should have 
come there and located himself. After mov- 
ing about somewhat among the people and in- 
specting several sites for a country store, he 
decided upon the crossroads, taking board 
with the Hammicks. Reserved to a degree 
that seemed becoming to a stranger, yet his 
answers to direct interrogatories seemed satis- 
factory in one who seemed too modest to talk, 
except privately and that in a mild way with 
his host, about his experiences which were in- 
timated and believed to be interesting. With- 
in convenient radius of the store were quite a 
number of nice girls and a few widows, who 
were waiting for opportunities not too unrea- 
sonable. Among these, if he was more par- 
ticular in attention to any one, it was Miss 
Lynch, who accepted them very graciously, 
more, she said, because it gratified her father, 
than because she was disposed to take into her 
hands the newest broom that was ever born or 
made. No; she was not of that sort. It was 
avowedly from the same motive that whenever 
she went to the store, or saw him coming 


no 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


to her father’s she put on an extra ribbon 
or so. 

The merchant seemed to compassionate 
Patsy Hammick’s limited gifts and opportuni- 
ties, and kindly encouraged her to take good 
care of herself, grow as fast as she could, and 
be improved in all possible ways, giving it as 
the opinion of a man who had seen more of the 
world than she had, that if his advice was fol- 
lowed, she might marry before people expected 
it, and that higher than she had ever looked for. 
Of course, as he said rather confidentially to 
Miss Lynch, the poor child ought to have some 
encouragement, if she could get it. Miss Lynch 
made little remark upon such speeches, believ- 
ing that she had good reason. But Patsy felt 
herself much helped up, and soon began to look 
of another sort. Not that she was bold among 
young men who were taking note of her im- 
provement. No; away from home, or before 
company at home, though not so shy as former- 
ly, she kept the same reserve, as if she felt not 
the slightest need of haste about things of that 
kind. Her father, with whom she talked much 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


III 


more freely than with her mother, was well 
pleased with all the appearances. A rather 
small, shaggy-haired man, he was credulous 
as he was loquacious, and hopeful as ambitious. 
His wife, whose own experience had been 
harder than might have been, or ought to have 
been, whose other daughters in the marriage 
line had done nothing to boast of, was far less 
hearty about the changes in Patsy. 

“ Don’t you let that man put too high notions 
in your head, Patsy,” she occasionally said. 
“ You know not a thing about him, nor no- 
body else knows but monstrous little. He’s 
got a object of some sort in behaving so polite to 
everybody, poor folks and all; and you better 
mind what you’re about. Your pap thinks he’s 
some great somebody, special since he’s found 
out, he say, that he have once killed a Injun. 
But to save my life I can’t fetch my mind to 
think he’s all what your pap and some other 
people is abeginning to make out; and if he is, 
you may be perfect sure he’ll never want you. 
In all events, every girl have to be partic’lar 
about herself with men. If I was called on to 


1 12 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


pick out a pattern of a woman about not being 
fooled by men-people, its Em’line Lynch, that 
she's always jest as calm in her mind where 
they are as where they ain’t, and she declare 
she’ll never marry no man, she don’t care who 
it is, till one come that she feel no doubt in her 
mind she’s going to better herself. And it’s 
the advice I give all my girls; but nary one of 
’em would take it.” 

Patsy, never replying in words, and trying 
not to do so in looks, inwardly shrugged her 
shoulders at the absurdity of comparing herself 
with one, who, unmarried yet, was old enough 
to be her mother. 

Miss Lynch, although a trifle taller perhaps 
than most lovers would prefer, and her mouth, 
by this time from habitual firmness of character 
and speech, a little drawn at the corners, yet 
was a lady quite personable enough for such a 
man as Davison, unless he should be proven 
to be a greater man than to her he seemed. 
Toward her it was noticed, soon after his com- 
ing, that his manners were pointedly deferen- 
tial. While now and then with other unmar- 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


113 

ried females he jested — yet never to intemper- 
ate, even hearty hilarity — in her presence he 
wore the air of manlike seriousness; and once 
or twice, in a distant, melancholy way, he had 
hinted that he doubted if it was prudent, or ex- 
actly according to Nature for a man to remain 
always single, and therefore he had been think- 
ing, more so lately than ever before, that he 
might eventually feel that he owed to himself 
to look around. She heard him say his say, 
yet gave no sign whereby he could guess 
whether or not she might become willing to 
aid in his explorations. 

“ Pap,” she said one day to her father, “ the 
men-folks, you among ’em, and some women 
and girls, it appears, act like you all think 
there’s a mighty heap in Mr. Davison.” 

“ Why, my daughter, it’s perfect certain that 
he have a heap o’ inf’mation, more, a long 
ways, than anybody about here, special about 
the late war ag’inst the British, which they say 
he went in it when a boy and fit under Gen’l 
Jackson; and Squire Hammick say he have it 
from him p’int blank that he have kill’t one In- 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


1 14 

jun, if no more. Jeffy is a chattery-scattery 
talking feller, I know; still the man is a inf’ma- 
tion man and seem like perfect studdy in his 
ways.” 

“Well — I don’t know; but I wish the man 
would look straighter and clearer at people 
when he’s atalking to ’em. I don’t believe 
Missis Hammick thinks so overly much of 
him. I don’t know the reason, but I’m going 
to find out. She may be poor and plain, but 
she’s got sense, and she’s jest the best female 
person / know, and I’m agoing to find out.” 

“Well, my child, look like you’re goin’ to 
keep puttin’ off and puttin' off about your own 
self.” 

“ Don’t you be afraid that I don’t know and 
won’t know how to take care of myself, my 
dear old pap.” 

Never a hard word had been between them. 
There was some delicacy in the matter of in- 
vestigating Davison through Mrs. Hammick. 
Miss Lynch pondered long the changes in 
Patsy, her better dressing, the brightness of 
her face when at meeting or otherwheres from 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


US 

home; these, with the innuendoes of Hammick 
about prospective better fortunes for his fam- 
ily, in contrast with the deeper seriousness of 
his wife. Deciding that it was a matter of 
duty, she made up her mind to go there before 
very long. Before she had fixed upon a day 
for the visit some things occurred which I will 
proceed straightway to narrate. 

Ill 

Davison had been there something over a 
year, had done reasonably well in his business 
with the capital of a few hundreds which he 
had brought, and had made many acquaint- 
ances, a goodly number even in the upper dis- 
tricts of the county. Among the most cordial 
of these was James Slater, a rather stout, lo- 
quacious man of about thirty. He came from 
near the border, and, strictly speaking, was about 
half pine and half oak, although, for reasons 
partly social, but mainly political, he had been 
claiming heretofore to be all oak. He had 
been acting deputy to the sheriff, Granbury 
Backus, slight, darkish, reticent, some years 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


1 16 

older; but being dropped by him, he deter- 
mined, if he could make desirable combina- 
tions, to run for the office in chief at the next 
fall elections. Aspiring far beyond any 
strength that he possessed, yet the position 
which he held carried with it a certain prestige 
which he relied on for as much at least as it 
was worth, and it was not long before he be- 
came hopeful of success. After circulating 
among the other districts with results not 
quite satisfactory, he went down into Dooly, 
where many consultations were had between 
him, Davison, and Hammick. The Squire 
would have liked, the best of all things, to get 
to the Legislature, and Davison declared that 
he would much prefer him to himself. In this 
he was partially sincere, as, for special rea- 
sons, he would have liked better an office 
which would not have taken him out of the 
county. But it was plain enough before Sla- 
ter made it more so, that Hammick could not 
carry the district, a matter that was essential. 
He gave up readily; but it was because he had 
been made to believe that in good time he 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 117 

would have Davison for a son-in-law. So the 
combination was made, and it was not long 
before Jim Slater was regarding himself as 
shrewd a wire-puller as could be found. 

Mr. Lynch went to the county-seat habitu- 
ally on Saturday in every fortnight. At one 
of these visits, Slater, waiting till the old man 
had gotten through with his business and some 
friendly chattings, followed him to the horse- 
rack on the public square, and, as he held the 
bridle reins ready to mount, said: 

“ Uncle Johnny, I’ve been wantin’ to talk 
with some of you leadin’ Dooly people. Why 
don’t some of you never come out for the Leg- 
islatur’? ” 

“ I don’t know, Jeems, without it’s because 
none of us ain’t smart enough to git there, or 
ain’t thought to be.” 

“ Well, now, it jes’ hurt my feelin’s to even 
hear tell of any sech a insiniation, and, fact is, 
it ought to be stopped; for if I ain’t mistakened 
in the const’ution o’ the State, everybody o’ 
the people at large is liable to have their rip’- 
sentatives. Ajid if I was a Dooly man — and I 


1 18 ALMOST A WEDDING 

am half, as you know, on my mother’s side, 
and proud of it, to boot — yit, in that case, I 
should plant myself solid on my rights and on 
my dignities; and I should call on everybody 
else down there to do the same likeways of all 
shade.” 

“Why, Jeems, I don’t know of anybody that 
want to go to the Legislatur’; that is, anybody 
that’s fitten. I has heerd along this year oc- 
casional some little complainin’s that the 
deestrick has to ’pend on the oaky woods 
always for rip’sentatives. But I’ve been satis- 
fied with them we has had. Fact is, I couldn’t 
if I was called on, I couldn’t name a man 
down there that would keer about runnin’ that 
every voter would feel like unitin’ on. Squire 
Hammick might like it, abein’ of a ruther a 
ambitious sort of a creetur’; but I hardly think 
he could make what I’d call much of a rally.” 

“ If,” said the deputy, as if to a third person, 
with respectful consideration for the good man’s 
modesty — “ if / was called on to name the 
name of the man that would make the very 
ground swell all down the ’Geechee and Long 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


1 1 9 

Creek bottoms, and go bustin’ along clean to 
the very lines an’ bound’ries of Wash’n’ton 
County and Jeff’son County, and come a even 
ararin’ up into the oaky woods, the name I 
should name would be the name Uncle Johnny 
Lynch go by, both when he’s at home and 
when he ain’t; and I am allowed to say that 
them is the sentiments of Cap’n Davison and 
many a Dooly man besides.” 

“Oh, no, Jeems,” he answered in sincere prot- 
estation, “I’m too old, and I hain’t the eddication. 
That is perfect out o’ the question, Jeems.” 

“ Well,” he replied, as if much disappointed, 
“ a man know his own business, and what suit 
him better’n other people; but me an’ Cap’n 
Davison — ah, well.” 

“ Cap'n Davison, you say, Jeems ? I didn’t 
know he were a captain.” 

“Oh yes; I didn’t know it myself, tell I 
pinned him down to acknowledge it. He have 
greatest respects of you, Uncle Johnny, and I 
don’t know how often I’ve heerd him say that 
as for Miss Em’line, he haven’t seen her beat 
nowheres.” 


120 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


He saw that the parental heart was touched, 
and he said, quickly : 

“ How would he do ? That is, provided he 
could be got to run ? ” 

“Well, now, Jeems, I hain’t been thinkin’ 
about anybody for sech as that. Cap’n Davi- 
son, as you call him, seem like a nice man, and 
he have a heap o’ inf’mation. I’m gratified in 
my mind he ’predate Em’line, that she’s good 
and industr’ous, if I say it. You come down 
and talk with our people. I’m too old for sech ; 
but I sha’n’t say a word ag’in Mr. — or Cap’n — 
Davison, if he turn out to be the man.” 

Having thus secured the most influential 
man in the district, Slater went further to work 
among men and among women. He regretted 
that the limits of his education kept him frorti 
the highest flights while discoursing upon mil- 
itary renown, and the importance of lofty aim? 
among marrying females. It soon became 
noised abroad that Captain Davison, with 
mnch reluctance, and only after repeated ur- 
gent solicitation, had consented to stand for the 
Legislature at the ensuing elections ; and it 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


121 


was said that his friends, depending in general 
upon his well-known fitness, would rely main- 
ly upon his war record. Then followed a cam- 
paign, some incidents in which old men tell of 
with interest even to this day. 

IV 

At that time, in want of more commanding 
strength, the regime of class supremacy in this 
county had suffered greater inroads than in any 
of the neighboring. This year quite a number 
of new men came out for the various offices. 
When it was announced that Dooly had put 
forth a candidate, oaky woods people laughed; 
but they became serious when it was said that 
in his day he had killed an Indian. Men now 
living remember the eagerness with which the 
candidacy of this hero, lately come from foreign 
parts, was advanced. People, especially wo- 
men, not only piney, but oaky, went into the 
canvass, and a stranger might have thought 
that the savages were not all yet across the 
Ogeechee. Legends of their atrocities were 
revived to the degree that afterward Backus 


122 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


declared that in his opinion the very spelling- 
book couldn’t hold all those women’s words. 
The Captain, soon made conscious of entire 
security, did no other work, not even for Jim 
Slater, except to move about not too much, 
let himself be lauded, and look as if he felt 
that he had done no more than any true man, 
on opportunity, would do for his country. One 
day a gentleman who had retired from the 
contest asked Jim to tell him something about 
the killing. 

“My gracious, man! I thought you was 
one as kep’ up with hist’ry. I couldn’t p’int 
out the very place. Look into hist’ry. It’s in 
there som’ers. If it ain’t, it’s bound to be when 
it’s writ full and complete.” 

Then he broke away, and went again on his 
raging. 

The one cool head was Backus. Unlettered, 
he was yet a seer of what was in man. 

“Gent’men,” he said to the other candidates, 
“ this thing’s agoin’ to have its course, and it 
ain’t worth while to try to stop it. You all let 
him alone, it is my advice, and fight among 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


123 


yourselves for the other places. The deestrict 
is liable to have one rip’sen’tive ; and if they 
want a man nobody knows anything about, 
why jes’ let ’em, special as you can’t help your- 
selves ; as for Jim Slater, I’ll try to take keer 
of him.” 

One day, when Davison was in town, he 
took him aside, and after looking at him in 
silence, until he saw that he had embarrassed 
him, said : 

“ Cap’n Davison, I wouldn’t be surprised if I 
didn’t know more about you than you think. 
Now, if you go to fightin’ me too hard for Jim 
Slater, my opinion is, it’ll do you more harm 
than good.” 

It was purely a guessing venture ; but it 
went home. The Captain shivered for an in- 
stant, and answered humbly : 

“Why, Mr. Backus, you’re mistaken if you 
think I’m doing anything against you. Other 
people brought me out ; I didn’t want it.” 

“ Well, I jes’ thought I’d fling out them pri- 
minary remarks to let be knew that them that 
fights me is liable to git fit back. That’s all.” 


124 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


Shortly afterward he whispered to one of his 
friends : 

“ Nothin’ in him. He’ll git elected, because 
most o’ the women and the old men is fer him ; 
but to my opinions, he’s agoin’ to drap down 
after the ’lection, and that suddent.” 

At the close of the court on the day of elec- 
tion, Jim Slater, whose name was at the bot- 
tom of the list, went to Davison, and in a voice 
loud enough to be heard by several others, said: 

“ It was me that had you ’lected to the 
Legislatur’, and stid of totin’ far and helpin’ 
me, you let me come out at the very tail end 
o’ the ticket. Now we’ll see what good it’s 
goin’ to do you. You fooled me, and you’ll 
fool the rest of ’em, and you’ll fool yourself 
yit.” 

Although known to be no fighter, he waited 
a moment for an answer. Receiving none, he 
turned away as from an object of disgust, and 
went out. The scene surprised everybody ex- 
cept Backus. Davison men w.ere much cha- 
grined. If he had knocked down the insulter, 
a thing which he could have done with impun- 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


12 $ 

ity, his prestige might have stayed long enough 
at least to enable him to avoid some of the 
troubles that, unknown yet to any human being, 
were destined soon to pursue him. 

If men newly elected to offices beyond ex- 
pectation most ambitious, could avert all 
molestation afterward concerning methods 
employed in their campaigns, what times they 
might have ! But even members-elect of Leg- 
islatures cannot be always blest. Remembered 
promises, some perhaps conflicting, charges 
with oblivion of services, enmities born where 
one sees them necessary to have them not, 
threatenings about unearthing of buried things 
whose resurrection would be unpleasant — such 
as these sometimes sadden the most eager as- 
pirant. On the ride home with Hammick, who 
was running over with exultation, the Captain, 
for the most part, was thinking of Jim Slater. 
Jim had become a smaller fly than ever ; yet I 
do not know if he who invented the simile con- 
sidered the size of the insect that invaded the 
unguent. Then what Backus had said, to- 
gether with some other things, had led him to> 


126 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


fear, even before the election day, that he had 
made some mistakes, and it behooved, if he 
could not correct, to prepare, and that soon, 
for their avoidance. Already had he been talk- 
ing with a merchant at the court house about 
the disposal of his stock of goods preparatory 
to any change that might possibly become 
emergent. On reaching home at supper time 
he smiled with apparent pleasure at the con- 
gratulations, more expressed in looks than 
words, by Patsy, who had on her next best 
frock. The girl saddened immediately after 
the meal when, announcing that he was tired, 
Davison went off to bed. It was not the first 
time she had done so, latterly. The mother’s 
uneasiness, begun soon after the coming of 
Davison into the house, had been growing 
more and more serious. But, with one excep- 
tion she kept her thoughts to herself. This 
was Miss Lynch, who, in pursuance of her 
resolution, had repaired to the Hammicks’, 
some days before the election, and come away 
fearing that she had found out more than she 
had been expecting. 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


1 27 


V 

How many new calico frocks were gotten 
out on the next morning ready to be put on, 
Jim Slater perhaps could have guessed nearer 
than anybody else. The Captain, noticing that 
Patsy seemed quite down-hearted, chatted with 
her as pleasantly as he could, for a while put- 
ting her back into cheerful mood. 

“ It’s all right, Patsy,” he whispered, as he 
rose to go to his horse standing at the gate. 
He did not tell her whither he was going ; but 
in less than an hour he and Miss Lynch were 
in particular, intimate conversation. When he 
had announced the intention of his visit she 
scrutinized him for several moments, then said : 

“ I won’t deny I been athinking about you, 
Mr. Davison, from what you said to me, and 
your and Jeems Slater’s hints to me and the 
rest of the family ; but to be honest with you, 
I’ve done it to satisfy Pap more than my own 
self; and my conclusions I’ve come to, I don’t 
want you, and couldn’t be injuced in no ways ; 
and my advice is to you to go and marry 


128 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


Patsy Hammick; the quicker it’s done the bet- 
ter.” 

His face showed instant disgust and appre- 
hension. 

“ Do you suppose, Miss Em’line, that I’d 
marry that foolish thing, that hasn’t sense 
enough to — to — ” 

“ I’ll finish your words — to know what she 
was about when you were trying to make her 
believe you wanted her, and she believed you. 
I’ve got not another single word to say to you, 
Mr. Davison, excepting that if you have fooled 
that poor girl intentual, you ought to do what 
you promised, and if you won’t jest so, you 
ought to be made to. Yonder’s your horse.” 

She flirted herself away, and he immediately 
left the house. He knew that the sands be- 
neath his feet were shifting away. Remount- 
ing his horse, he rode to the court house, and 
did not return till the next day, accompanied 
by the merchant with whom he had been ne- 
gotiating and to whom he disposed of his stock, 
one-half for cash, the remaining money to be 
paid in twenty days. 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 129 

That night Mrs. Hammick was taken quite 
sick. Next morning, after quite an affectionate 
talk with Patsy, Davison said that he must go 
to town, and that he would return at least in 
two or three days. He kissed her at parting, 
saying as before, “ It’s all right, Patsy.” And 
he gave her ten dollars, which was many times 
more than all the money that ever was in her 
hands. Something of a pain not entirely of 
his own touched his heart, as, after mounting 
his horse, he turned his head and noticed how 
yearning was the look which he believed was 
to be the last to be bestowed by her upon him- 
self. 

The case of Mrs. Hammick grew worse con- 
stantly. Two days after Davison’s departure, 
Patsy, borne upon her father’s nag of all work, 
went to the Lynches’, saying that her mother 
was very sick, and wanted Miss Emeline, if she 
could, to please come there soon as possible. 
Putting in a bundle a few possibly needed 
things, Miss Lynch set out at once with the 
messenger. Patsy’s incessant weeping made 
her hasten her gait. All she could learn by 


130 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


questionings of her was that the doctor said it 
was a bad case of fever, and he was afraid she 
wouldn’t get over it. The eye of experience 
at once detected that the sickness was unto 
death. After brief words of salutation the vis- 
itor said : 

“ Missis Hammick, is anything on your mind 
you want to say to me ? ” 

“ Yes, Em’line, honey, when you git rested 
good, and we has a chance.” 

“ Tell me now, my dear friend. You’d better. 
I’m not at all tired. Mr. Hammick,” she con- 
tinued, turning to him, “ you and the rest please 
go out for a little while. I’ll do whatever’s 
wanted in here.” 

When they had retired, drawing one hand 
from beneath the coverlet, and raising it, the 
invalid said : 

“ Em’line, my mind have been pestered 
about Patsy, poor child, that you know how 
weakly she’s always been. I want to talk to 
you little bit about her if you’re willin’, and I 
has the strength.” 

“ Certainly, Missis Hammick ; talk perfect 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


131 

free, and I promise to try to do whatever you 
want done.” 

“ Thanky, oh, thanky, Em’line. I knowed 
not who, under the good Lord, to turn to but 
you.” 

The few words were enough. She labored 
so painfully that her friend, taking down from 
her face the withered hand, pressed it softly 
and said : 

“ That’ll do — that’ll do ; I think I understand 
the case ; and as God lives in Heaven, I’ll do 
all I can for Patsy.” 

“ Bless his holy name ! Oh, Em’line ! I feel 
so happy, I — I — ” 

Then she sunk into sleep. 

It was a mercy that Miss Lynch came. The 
house was full of those none of whom knew 
what to do ; the husband, sympathetic in looks, 
as if he had been the tenderest of his kind, the 
other children and children-in-law all in one 
another’s way. Miss Lynch moved among and 
put them aside, as if they had been chairs or 
stools. That night, calling all to her bedside, 
the mother told them that she had given Patsy 


132 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


to Miss Lynch. At sunrise she died. Patsy 
then throwing herself upon the bed, cried pite- 
ously : 

“ Oh, Ma, I didn’t tell you — ” 

“ Hush ! ” said Miss Lynch, seizing her arm 
and lifting her from the bed. “ It was well for 
the poor soul you didn’t. Go and wash your 
face, and comb your hair, and tie some of 
your things in a hank’chief, and be ready, time 
I’m done laying her out, to go on back with 
me home.” 

Nobody objected to the bequest. After the 
funeral Miss Lynch obtained from Hammick, 
in the presence of witnesses, his solemn relin- 
quishment of all claims to Patsy ; and when 
they were at home, made her sit down by her 
side, and then demanded, in the name of the 
mother who was dead, and who, as she said, 
was in Heaven and hearing every word that 
was said, to be told the whole truth about her 
and Davison. Patsy did her best to open her 
whole heart. The questioner believed that she 
saw into it as into her own. 

“ That’ll do,” she said, rising, and snuffing 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


133 


loudly through her nostrils ; “ if they is any 
law in the land for such as that, I’ll make that 
man marry you, sure enough ; and if they ain’t, 
I’ll make him sorry, somehow, for the day he 
ever laid eyes on you. I’m going to town to- 
morrow.” 

This feeling of motherhood, in the childless, 
as in the bearer of many children ! How be- 
nignant of the Creator in imparting it to every 
female ! The little child dresses and fondles 
her doll, whether of porcelain or of rags, un- 
dresses, lays in the cradle, and rocks to sleep. 
These are the earliest prophecies of mother- 
hood, and, being without selfishness, are per- 
haps sweeter than fulfillment even the most 
felicitous. The maid, past the time of love and 
its fruiting, adopts somebody or something on 
which to shed maternal love that can never be 
entirely objectless. Emeline Lynch, feeling 
for the first time in all her life that she was 
destined not to marry, accepted from the arms 
of her dying friend one who else must become 
an outcast, and already the sense of mother- 
hood was felt by her to be like it would have 


*34 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


been had the adopted in infancy depended upon 
her breast. Feeling for the girl’s weakness a 
contempt without limit, in her dead mother’s 
place she conceived a dire hatred for him who 
had outraged it. In the breast of the new 
mother were none of the shame nor the re- 
morse which, however undefinable or unde- 
served, might have been in the one who had 
died; therefore resentment was more fierce in 
the triple sense of innocence, superiority, and 
security from personal taint. The last infirmity 
of virtue is temptation to indulge pride, which 
of all, because of extremest difficulties in its 
curing, is perhaps the most to be shunned. 

VI 

The collapse of extravagant, unreasoning 
favoritism is generally as rapid as its rise. The 
jeerings of those who had voted against Davi- 
son stimulated inquiries which, before the elec- 
tion, were unheeded. Yet people were less 
concerned about the time and circumstances 
of the Captain’s military exploit, than ashamed 
of themselves for making so much ado about 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


135 


the killing of one Indian, when there was not 
another, even a friendly, within two hundred 
miles. They must rid themselves of some of 
the shame, and throw it upon Davison, who, but 
only at the last, had shown himself unworthy 
of their support. Tom Kemp, one of his most 
ardent backers, made so purely for the heroic 
fighting qualities of his candidate, on the very 
night of the election expressed his disgust. 

“ ’Stid o’ knockin’ Jim Slater down, and 
stompin’ him for his imp’dent, he hacked like 
a whipped hound, which go to show that if he 
ever kill’t a Injun he shot him in the back. As 
long as I live I’ll be sorry I voted for him.” 

“ It look,” said the sheriff, ** like it were ruther 
a big hullaberloo about one single lone po’ In- 
jun; don’t you think so, Tom ? ” 

“I do, Mr. Backus; blamed if I don’t. I’m 
agoin’ to take one more drink, and then I’m 
agoin’ home.” 

The member-elect remained in town, and 
studied the changing phase of public opinion. 
Early one morning, taking Backus far aside, 
after speaking at some length upon present 


136 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


conditions, he asked for counsel. Backus for 
several moments appeared to be reflecting 
gravely on what answer he should make. At 
length he said: 

“ Cap’n Davison, as Jim Slater say that were 
your name you was knew by where you come 
from, you has ast my advices, and I’m agoin’ 
to give ’em, honest, squar’. They is beginnin’ 
to be some talk, and some dissat’faction about 
the way you got elected; an’ people has been 
a-askin’ of theirselves, and a-askin’ o’ Jim, 
where you come from for cert’n, and where, an’ 
when, an’ how you come to kill that Injun, and 
Jim say say he know nothin’ about it, an he 
say he’s done with you an’ the Injun, to boot. 
But what’s ahurtin’ you the worst, the wim- 
ming has begun to turn ag’inst you, which you 
know they was the mainest backers you had 
from the stump. The talk is that some o’ them 
young wimming in Dooly, not countin’ in wid- 
ders, has been ruther trifled with by you, along 
o’ Jim in your name, which my expe’unce is 
that’s one o’ the danjousest things for a feller 
to let hisself git caught at, an’ run the resk of 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 1 37 

gittin’ his brains knocked out with a stick, or 
his back took with a cowhide, or a hole made 
through him with a shotgun, er a rifle, make 
no odds which, as to that; er, if not that, then 
sued for britch o’ married contract, and a ver- 
di’t for big damage, an’ not able to ’spon’, an’ 
then took with a ca-sa ,* and not be able to 
give secuority, bein of ruther a stranger in the 
county, when — ” 

He paused momentarily, and looked in the 
direction of the place where the jail stood. 
Noticing the abject terror of the man, he pro- 
ceeded: 

“ Course, in sech a case, a feller can take 
benefit o’ the insolvent law; that is, if he can 
prove they ain’t no fraud in the showin’ he 
make o’ what prop’ty he have; but no man that 
think much of hisself love er want to do sech 
as that. Now, Cap’n Davison, I has heerd it 
hinted about that some people believes that 
you has actuil give your word to Patsy Ham- 
mick; an’ ef so be, an’ you don’t stand up to 

* Abbreviation of Capias ad Satisfaciendum , a writ di- 
recting the sheriff to seize the person of the debtor. 


138 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


it, they is obleeged to be some trouble o’ some 
sort. Them is plain people down there in 
Dooly deestrick; but they’ve got cha-recter, 
and they’ve got the sperrit, special when their 
wimming is in the case. They ain’t not so very 
much in Squire Jeffy Hammick; but Missis 
Hammick, that the poor woman is dead and 
buried, but I have heerd many and many a 
person down there say, male and female — I’ve 
heerd ’em say that, to their opinions, she were 
the very hardest workin’ and the best Christon 
woman that went to Long Creek meetin’-house; 
and that girl, which everybody say she were 
a ruther weakly kind of a girl, which makes 
sech as that go to hurt people’s feelin’s worse’n 
if she’d ’a’ been better able to take keer of her- 
self. I’m told Missis Hammick on her dyin’ 
bed give Patsy to Miss Em’line Lynch, and 
Miss Em’line have adopped her out and out. 
You may know much about Miss Em’line Lynch 
as whut I do. If you don’t, I’ll simply say that 
if I wus to git in a scrape o’ that sort, I’d soon 
have any six men ag’inst me in Dooly deestrick 
as Miss Em’line Lynch, ’ithout I could com- 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


139 

permise the case — splendid fine woman though 
she be. Ahem ! ” 

They parted. Davison went immediately to 
his debtor, and proposed to discount at twenty 
per cent, for cash the promissory note for his 
goods. The proposal was accepted on allow- 
ance of three days for raising the money. 
Thence he repaired to his boarding-house near 
an edge of the village and there remained un- 
til he was called for later in the day. 

VII 

Early that morning Miss Lynch said to her 
adopted: 

“ Patsy, my child, I’m going to town to-day 
on some business. I hope you ain’t going to 
be too lonesome with thes yourself and Pap — 
won’t you try not, honey ? ” 

“Yes’m, I won’t be too lonesome. I’ll be 
sewin’ most o’ the time.” 

“ That’s a good girl.” 

Taking the family gig and a small negro 
boy along, she drove to town, and alighted at 
the house of the sheriff. Delaying only to say 


140 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


and hear a few words of greeting with Mrs. 
Backus she walked to the public square, where 
she noticed Backus entering his office, having 
just parted with Davison. Hasting there, and 
finding him alone, she instantly broke forth: 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Backus; we are all well, 
I thank you; Missis Backus say you all well; I 
come to see about that man Davison that I 
want him took and made marry Patsy Ham- 
mick, that now her poor mother’s dead and 
gone, I’ve adopped her according to her re- 
quest, that he promised the poor thing to marry 
her over and over again, and not only so, but 
told her he were married to her, making her 
believe it, and keep her mouth shut tell he 
could get ready to tell it to her parrents and 
everybody else by and large, and if it’s neces- 
sary for her to swear to it, I’ll fetch her here; 
but I’m ready to kiss the book my own self, 
and swear I hain’t nary doubt about what she 
have told me, and she ought to be married if 
she ain’t. Where is he ? ” 

“ He’s in town somewheres, Miss Em’line. 
I see him come out jes’ a minute ago from 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


I4F 

Luckett’s store, and go on towards Missis 
Wade’s, where he bode. You say he have told 
the girl he were done married to her ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, Mr. Backus — yes, sir, and then he 
pretend to say some sort o’ cer’mony, and then he 
threaten, if she tell anybody before he get ready, 
he’ll go away, and leave her; my Lord ! and 
what’s the first thing to be did, Mr. Backus ? 
I ain’t got time to tell you all that man’s mean- 
ness. What’s the first thing to be did ? Pap 
say if any lawing’s to be done I better go to 
Mr. Channell; but I thought I’d see you first.” 

“ Of course the papers has to be got out first, 
Miss Em’line; and you’ll have to have a law- 
yer for that.” 

“ Come along, then,” she said, rising and al- 
most rushing out. As soon as she was in the 
lawyer’s office, she exclaimed: 

“ I come to see you, Mr. Channell, excuse my 
manners for forgetting to say howdye and good- 
morning, and ask how your family was, ahop- 
ing they’re well as common; but Pap said go to 
you if any lawing was to be done against that 
Davison, and I brought Mr. Backus along to 


142 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


tell you better than I could what’s to be did, 
and then I want him put through the whole 
len’th of the law if he don’t marry Patsy of his 
own accords like all honor’ble people does.” 

When he had gotten from her a statement 
of facts, he said: 

“ Unfortunately, Miss Emeline, there is no 
provision in the law for forcing a man to marry 
against his consent.” 

“ What, Mr. Channell ! not after he have 
fooled a young, weakly, ign’ant girl that knows 
nothin’ about law, nor mighty little about any- 
thing else, and made her believe, as the poor 
thing believe to this day, she were married to 
him accordin’ to the cer’mony he tell her they 
has where he come from ? Ain’t they no law 
for sech as that, Mr. Channell ? ” 

“ Oh, yes; women thus outraged may sue 
for pecuniary compensation, which, in a case 
like this, I’ve no doubt any jury would put at 
a very high figure.” 

“ You mean money ? Because, if you do, the 
miser’ble creetur hain’t a tent’ nor not even a 
fift’ of what he ought to pay her for her — and. 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


143 


and — the good Lord ! — that I has to have sech 
a case on my hands that always have tried to 
be a modest female according to the raising 
my mother give me — but, oh, my gracious ! ” 
she looked as if she wanted to scream. “ I 
wish, in my heart I wish I could be a man one 
time and come up with that villion, and him 
tell me he never promised to marry Patsy 
Hammick, and won’t. I’d make a law for him, 
I would ! Well, I want the law put on him what 
it’ll be so kind and condescendin’ to do in this 
case. And then, if he can’t pay up, you and 
Mr. Backus, a-including your cost, I want him 
put in that jail, and me be his egzekerter till 
the last dollar, and the last cent — ” 

She stopped, put her hand to her brow, and 
seemed that she felt herself yielding to pas- 
sion that was not entirely becoming. Soon 
tears came, and removing her hand she let 
them flow, and, then, in soft, tremulous voice, 
said: 

“ Mr. Channell, and you, Mr. Backus, you 
know what makes me go on this way ? If you 
don’t, I’ll tell you. Her mother were the very 


144 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


salt of the earth, if they is any, and I humble 
believe she’s been, ever sence the breath went 
out her body, have she been akneelin’ down 
before the throne of God, and apraying Him, 
not only for her poor child she left on my 
hands, but for me, jest me, that I might be 
stren’thened to do fur her what she need. And 
don’t you know ? I got so I do believe I love 
that child, weakly as she is, and people’ll say 
she’s ruined, that I love her same as if she was 
mine. It ain’t me; because I’m on$ that’s of a 
hard — that is, I’m one that in gener’l it’s been 
hard to be perfect satisfied with them about 
me, special them that’s younger than me, be- 
sides of being females, and my nature have 
been changed to that sence the death of that 
poor, hard-working, humble Christon, that I 
jest know it ain’t me, and that it’s nobody but 
the good Lord in heaven. Fix up your papers, 
Mr. Channell, sech as I have to sign, as I want 
to be getting on back home.” 

When the papers usual in a suit for breach 
of marriage promise had been drawn, also 
copies and the process of the court, it was late 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


*45 


in the afternoon. Davison had not appeared 
on the street since morning. Channell, ac- 
quainted with the understanding between him 
and his debtor, repaired to the latter and re- 
quested him to send a messenger saying that 
he was ready to comply with the offer of the 
morning without further delay, as the money 
had come in that evening. 

“I'll deposit it with you, Mr. Luckett, if it’s 
found to be needed.” 

The action was not unnecessary. Davison’s 
horse stood saddled at the gate, and he was 
waiting for his supper before mounting. His 
hostess had told him of having seen Miss 
Lynch in town that day. Shortly afterward 
he had gone to his room and packed his sad- 
dle-bags. When the horse was brought out, 
he asked for an early supper, saying that he 
was going to ride down to Squire Hammick’s 
to return the next day. Indeed, he had re- 
solved upon flight, making first for Augusta 
where, from the well-known credit of Luckett, 
he did not doubt of being enabled to easily 
discount his paper. Immediately after the 


146 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


coming of the messenger, without suspicion 
he repaired to the store. At his entrance, 
Backus came out of the back room and said, in 
his calm, slow manner : 

“Cap’n Davison, beg pardon for int’ruptin’ 
you and Mr. Luckett; but I want to say a 
word before him and you begin your settle- 
ment. Miss Em’line Lynch was in town to- 
day, and she come as next friend, I believe 
the lawyers call it, yes, as next friend of Miss 
Patsy Hammick, which she's under lawful age, 
as I s’pose you might know, and she — that is, 
Miss Em’line, do — she want to know if you’ll 
marry the said Patsy like you promised.” 

Pale, in abject despair, he answered: 

“ Mr. Backus, I never promised to marry 
Patsy Hammick, and it can’t be proved I did. 
Everybody knows what a poor, weakly — Mr. 
Backus, I can't marry that girl; it’s perfectly 
impossible.” 

“ That’s enough, Cap’n; I got nothin’ more 
to say about that; but I’ll have to take charge 
of you for the time abein’, and my authority 
is this writ, a-askin’ ten thousand dollars for 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 147 

britch o’ married contract, and acallin’ for 
bail.” 

VIII 

When told that he whose wife she believed 
herself to be had been imprisoned for refusing 
to acknowledge her, Patsy was shocked to a 
degree that alarmed Miss Lynch. Hearing 
two days afterward that he had consented to 
marry her publicly, she became more hap- 
py than ever she had been in all her life. 
Davison had already sent in his resignation 
as member-elect of the Legislature, and made 
to Mr. Channell a showing of his effects, which, 
besides his horse and its accouterments, 
amounted to about eight hundred dollars. He 
proposed, on condition of dismissal of the suit 
and release from jail, to marry Patsy, give her 
five hundred dollars, and then leave the coun- 
ty. The lawyer advised acceptance. So on 
the next day but one Miss Lynch took Patsy 
into town. She and Mrs. Backus made ready 
the bride as well as possible in the brief time 
allowed, and seldom one more blushing and 


148 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


trembling went forth to meet the bridegroom. 
Miss Lynch trembled also, and she whispered 
to Mrs. Backus that never in all her born days 
had she felt so scared. 

“I can’t tell what is make me so, Missis 
Backus; but I’m that trimbly I don’t know 
what to do. If anybody ever did want any- 
thing over and then be let go back home, it’s 
me. I thes know that if it was me myself a- 
going to get married, I wouldn’t be that put 
out. Ain’t it a pity, when a woman has to be 
so anxious to have a girl she love like she 
were her own child married to a man she de- 
spises, and ’twern’t ag’inst Scriptur’, she wants 
him dead and in his grave ? Please pray for 
me, Missis Backus, if you have time; but don’t, 
let anybody know I asked you. Oh, my!” 

Accompanied by Mrs. Backus and two other 
woman friends, Miss Lynch and Patsy reached 
the church door as the sheriff with Davison, 
followed by the minister and a dozen or more 
of others, came. The bridegroom, pale and 
haggard, raised not his eyes since the mo- 
ment of quitting the jail, even to look at 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


H9 


Patsy when Miss Lynch led her to where 
they had paused before ascending the steps. 
She looked appealingly into his face and 
did not note the deep aversion with which 
he turned from her. At that moment Chan- 
nell came up to the front with an elderly gen- 
tleman with whom in the rear of the proces- 
sion he had been chatting in subdued tones all 
the way from the jail. 

“Who is that old man with ’Squire Chan- 
nell?” asked several in whispers, and none 
could answer. 

“Wait a moment, please, Mr. Backus,” said 
Channell in a loud voice. “A gentleman who 
has lately come into town wishes to say, be- 
fore this marriage takes place, a few words 
which it may be important to the parties to 
hear.” 

Davison turned, and at sight of the stranger, 
shrinking, retreated until his back was against 
the house, where he stood gazing as if at his 
last avenging judge. 

“ Mr. Sheriff,” said the man, “ you, reverend 
sir, and all who are assembled here, I am one 


150 ALMOST A WEDDING 

of the representatives-elect of the coming Leg- 
islature from the county of Decatur. My name 
is Leverett. For the purpose of securing com- 
fortable quarters during the session, I went to 
Milledgeville in advance, where I met your 
Mr. Anderson, who was there with the same 
intent. Hearing him mention the circum- 
stances in which one of his colleagues, a Cap- 
tain Davison, had gained his election, and 
afterward sent in his resignation, I was led to 
suspect that I might know that person. So I 
obtained a means of conveyance and reached 
this village about an hour ago. The sight of 
the prisoner has verified my suspicion. His 
name is not Davison, but Woodson. Two years 
ago, in the county of Gadsden, in the territory 
of Florida, he intermarried with the daughter 
of a man well known to myself. Within a few 
weeks afterward his wife, some of his fraudu- 
lent practices having become known to her, 
separated from him. Leaving that county, he 
came to my residence, where, knowing that I 
stood under some obligations for assistance 
rendered by his father-in-law, with a forged 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


51 


letter pretended to be written by him, he got 
from me one hundred dollars; and I have 
heard, on very best authority, that he similarly 
defrauded several other persons in Florida. 
His wife, within my certain knowledge, was 
living ten days ago, and I have every reason to 
believe that she is now. Little as such a man 
deserves an interference which screens him 
from punishment for the perpetration of big- 
amy, a yet more heinous crime, yet, as an hon- 
est citizen, and as a faithful conservator of the 
laws, I feel myself constrained to make it. It 
will be some satisfaction to her friends, that 
this young woman can have what benefit and 
comfort are in this solemn public recognition 
by the man who so outraged her. My child,” 
approaching Patsy, “it is cruel for you to be 
so sorely disappointed; but I trust — ” 

“ I don’t believe it ! ” Patsy shrieked. Then, 
running to Davison, she tried to put her arms 
about his neck. He flung himself away from 
her, saying: 

“Get away, you — Don’t you see I can’t 
marry you ?” 


152 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


Then addressing the sheriff: 

“I’ve got nothing to say, Mr. Backus.” 

By this time quite a number of townspeople 
were at the scene. 

“Gent’men,” said Tom Kemp, in a low 
voice, slowly advancing, followed by several 
others, “we ought to deal with that man.” 

Backus seized the prisoner’s arm, and, facing 
the men, said in a low, firm tone: 

“Boys, you know, ’ithout my tellin’ you, 
that sech as that won’t begin to do, and can’t 
be done ’cept over my dead body.” 

Then he took him away. 

Patsy, uttering a piteous wail, sank ’upon the 
ground. 

Lifting her, and with one arm fondling her 
tq her breast, Miss Lynch raised the other, 
and cried aloud: 

“You people, you proud folks that lives in 
town and think you have contemp’ fpr them 
that has feelings for sech as this, I want you 
to know that they isn’t one of you that loves 
the smartest, beautifulest offspring you’ve got 
any better than I love this poor girl that her 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


153 


mother give her to me with her dying breath. 
And I tell you now that she’s as innocent of 
sin, and of the meaning to do it, as any child 
that ever hung oh its mothers breast, and 
sickened there, and died there.” 

Smoothing the hair on Patsy’s forehead, say- 
ing, “There, now, precious, that’ll do,” she led 
her away. 

Before leaving for home she took her hostess 
aside and said: 

“Missis Backus, don’t you know, I feel like 
I ain’t been quite coming up to my promise to 
poor Missis Hammick? And it’s because I’ve 
so often been that angry and mad with that 
man, that I know the good Lord don’t want 
no sech in nobody, it being him that keeps 
kindled the coals for sech people’s heads, as 
we have thankful saw poured on this blessed 
day, which I can’t remember as I ever felt as 
calm and peaceable and thankful in my mind 
as when that good old man, bless his heart, 
when he stepped for’ards so unbeknownst, and 
clinched the nail on him anot’ithstanding the 
egzitement when my heart went pitter-patter, 


154 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


pitter-patter. Because, don’t you know, that 
dear good woman never opened her mouth to 
say nary single angry word ag’inst that man, 
all so be she suspicioned what I know for cer- 
tain. Because you know the good Lord lets 
good people, when they’re dying, he lets them 
forgive like they want to be forgive. But now 
it’s all over, and it look like the poor man 
have so many things to answer for, maybe a- 
including some more which nobody about here 
know anything about, it look like he may nev- 
er git out the penitentiary alive, at least in my 
day, I feel like I ought to try to forgive him, 
if I can, for Patsy’s sake, that you see for your- 
self, she love the miser’ble villion yet, which I 
do think on my soul, it made me that — but I 
made up my mind not to keep angry and mad, 
if I can help it, and I want you to tell Mr. 
Backus to tell Mr. Channell to tell the judge, 
when he come down on him, that I, a-acting 
not for myself, but as Patsy’s mother, like her 
that’s dead app’inted me, that I want nothing 
done to the poor creetur’ excepting what the 
law allow. Because, don’t you know, Missis 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


155 


Backus, I want to try to forgive as I want to 
be forgive. Good-by, and I thanky you, and 
I know Patsy do, if she is one that knows not 
how to say it; but we both thanky for all the 
trouble we’ve put you to.” 

After remanding the prisoner, Backus and 
Mr. Leverett repaired with Channell to the 
office of the latter. 

“ And did the feller ever kill the Injun, sure 
enough?” asked Backus. 

“Not that I ever heard,” answered the gen- 
tleman. “It became known, however, very 
soon after his marriage, that he had been 
grossly defrauding an aged inoffensive Indian 
out of a little property that he had; and this 
and other rascalities which his wife discovered 
led to her abandonment of him. Her father 
and some other citizens forced him to restore 
the property and take himself out of the coun- 
ty. Not long afterward the old man disap- 
peared also; but I never heard that Woodson 
or any other had been suspected of making 
way with him. Yet there’s no telling what 
such a creature would not do.” 


i$6 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


“Well,” replied Backus, “I’ve been in this 
country, been forty- two year last week; I were 
born up on Williams’ Creek, and I never knewed 
the rip’tation o’ killin’ a human of no sort to 
start up so brash and come down so suddent 
flat. What’s your opinions, Squire Channell, 
if another one of ’em was to come here and 
start arunnin’ on that line ? ” 

“I rather suspect, Backus, that after giving 
him some start in the direction whence he 
came, the people would put hounds on his 
track; and I’m not sure that I wouldn’t join in 
the chase. Wouldn’t you ? ” 

“Couldn’t say; ’pend on circum’ses.” 

“Ah, gentlemen,” said Mr. Leverett, “lie 
as most probably it was, the card, if he had 
known how to play it, was a good one. I’ve 
known more than one man to win with it when 
it was the only one that he held. You know 
that mankind must learn to hate those whom 
they persuade themselves that they have been 
commissioned by Heaven to destroy. After 
severe wars people concern themselves less 
about homicides than theft and cheatings in 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


157 - 

general. I can remember when the killing of 
a man was sometimes punished by fine and im- 
prisonment, while for the stealing of a horse 
the thief was sure to be hanged.” 

IX 

One morning near the end of summer, Miss 
Lynch, accompanied by a small girl of seven 
or eight years, came into town and stopped for 
a comforting chat with Mrs. Backus. When 
they were seated, she said to the child: 

“You run out, Em’line, honey, and play in 
the yard while Aunty and Missis Backus have 
a little talky-talky. We’ll soon be through, 
and then I and you will go to Mr. Luckett’s 
store and git the things we come for.” 

Her face showed the traces of grief, and 
tears came several times during the conver- 
sation. 

“ I didn’t want her to hear me talking about 
Patsy, because, Missis Backus, she mightn’t 
think I loved her like I promised when Sis 
Marthy said I might have her if I could per- 
suade her to come to me. But oh, Missis 


158 


ALMOST A WEDDING 


Backus ! hav’n’t you heard me say that I never 
have knew about women, what they’ll do and 
what they won’t? I never dreamed to love 
that girl like I did, and when I see how she 
grieved and went on about that man, so that 
she got sick and had to be put to bed, and for 
three weeks it look like, all me and Pap and 
the very doctor could do, she’d die right there 
— but final, at last, she revived, and her appe- 
tite come back, and she got up. And then I 
bought her, out of the money we got for her, 
I bought her a likely young neeger-woman, 
and that seem to peert’n her up smart. And 
then — the good Lord bless my poor soul ! — it 
weren’t more than four months before I noticed 
that she were not displeaged when Ace Usry 
one Sunday, that he never had even noticed 
her in all his lifetime before, that he had to 
buck up and ride along home with her from 
Long Creek meetin’. And after we got home 
and I told her, and that in solom word, that it 
were for nothin’ undei' the sun, but because he 
have found out she own a neeger-woman, she 
never said yea nor nay, nor never opened her 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


159 


mouth; and so the very next day here rid up 
Ace again, and asked for her, and without com- 
ing to me for my advice, she put on the very 
best frock she had, and she went out to meet 
him. I declare I went off to myself, I did, and I 
thes cried and cried. And when Ace was gone, 
and she come and see me acryin’, she cried too, 
and she said if I felt that way about it she’d 
never see Ace Usry another time, nor no other 
young man would she let even name the get- 
ting of married to her again. Now you see how 
it was; the ’sponsibility all flung on me again. 
And I tried to ask myself what her mother, 
that I’d not a doubt that she was in Heaven, I 
wanted to ask what she'd want done. And it 
seem like the answer come, ‘Em’line, you’ve 
done your duty. Let her go along with Ace 
Usry. It’s all for the best.’ And I done it; 
and when Missis Usry come to ask what I 
knew about Patsy’s character along with that 
man Davison, because you know Ace ain’t but 
nineteen years old, and a good conditioned 
boy he is; but when she asked me that, I told 
her it were hard to say exact what Patsy Ham- 


1 60 ALMOST A WEDDING 

mick were. She wasn’t what people natchly 
might call a girl, in all the senses people in- 
cludes of such a word; nor she wasn’t a married 
woman, neither according to the word of the 
Gospul nor the law of the land; all so be as 
much as twice she had tried to be and once 
thought she were. I told Missis Usry, that 
nigh as I could come at it, Patsy were more 
like a widder than anything else; for if him she 
thought she were married to wasn’t dead, 
’twasn’t because he oughtn’t to be, and to her 
he were dead for good; and then I told her 
that as for her ameaning or awanting to do 
wrong or act unlawful, she were as innocent 
of such as that as me or her, or anybody on 
the face of the good Lord’s yearth. And that 
satisfied her and the family; and after that, 
when I see how things were agoing, I told 
’em if it was to be, I wanted it over and be 
done with it. And I helped the poor child; for 
she’s nothing but a child, and never will be; 
but I helped her to get her wedding clothes, 
and let them have a nice wedding; and the 
poor girl flung her arms around me and cried 


IN DOOLY DISTRICT l6l 

like a baby when they went away. And after 
they got off, oh, Missis Backus! I thought I 
felt like my heart was broke /” 

After brief indulgence of her tears, she re- 
sumed: 

“ But I’m thankful I’m agetting to have 
some comfort out of little Em’line, you see 
yonder under that chainey tree, that Marthy 
let me have her, and I must wash my face and 
try to peert’n up before I call her. You know 
how jealous-minded girl-children are. Well, 
it’s done me good to tell you about it all. But , 
Missis Backus, the final conclusion of my mind 
about women is, that there isn’t anybody, nor 
there ain’t nobody can tell what they will do, 
nor what they won’t when they have their 
feelings in the case; nor, as I know by my own 
experience, they can’t tell their very own 
selves. But again , I want to say one thing 
about them that’s as certain as death and taxes, 
as the sayin’ is, and that’s that they’ve got to 
have somebody, if they’ve got no husband, and 
no children, they’ve actual positive got to have 
somebody to scatter their affection on of some 


162 ALMOST A WEDDING IN DOOLY DISTRICT 


sort; and the onlest way I can think of to ex- 
plain it all, it’s thes because the good Lord 
made ’em so.” 

She retired into the house, and after freshen- 
ing herself as well as she could, came out. 
Calling cheerily to the child, she said: 

“ Come, Em’line ; come, darling. Aunty’s 
through with her talk. Come in and tell 
Missis Backus thanky and good-by. Then 
we’ll go on to the store where Aunty’s going 
to get some mighty nice things for her little 
precious.” 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


“ I do beseech you 

(Chiefly that I may set it in my prayers), 

What is your name ?” — The Tempest 

I 

^ T OFTEN say to myself, ‘Phyllis Phips, if 
nobody else pities you for the name you’ve 
got, I know I do.’ As for the Phips part, I 
come by that according to natur’, o’ course; 
but then my father, he had to stick on Phyllis, 
after a old aunt, not thinking how quare and 
a’most ridic’lous it sounded. ’Twasn’t for my 
name I would move to town, like severial nice 
quality ladies has advised. Ah, well ! people 
ought to try to get riconciled to what they 
can’t help; and I don’t know but what I will 
go there after awhile, anyhow.” 

Born in humble condition a few miles outside 
of the town of Athens in the State of Georgia, 

left an orphan when ten years old, given a 
163 


164 SOMETHING IN A NAME 

home in the family of one of the neighbors, her 
aptness and industry at all kinds of domestic 
work soon began to overpay the expense of 
keeping her and even of giving to her a little 
schooling. When she became of age, from the 
extra work she had done she had saved from 
the proceeds a few hundreds. By this time she 
had grown uncommonly expert in the making 
of female wear of every description, from slip- 
pers up to hats and bonnets. Her fame at 
length extended into town, whence orders were 
carried to her or she was besought to come in 
for greater convenience in executing them. 
Often she had been told that if she would re- 
move there, take a shop of her own and keep 
for sale materials used in her work, she might 
get a considerably larger income. She hesi- 
tated long before acting upon the suggestion. 

“ It’s not only that I feel easier out here, but 
it’s that in town I thes get tired out a constant 
being called Miss Phips. I can’t even set at 
the table, but it’s ‘ Miss Phips, will you ? ’ and 
4 Miss Phips, won’t you ? ’ And sometimes 
their very neegers torments me by getting of 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 165 

it wrong, and a body can plain see that if they 
didn’t daresn’t, they’d giggle; because them 
quality people is good and polite to me the 
same if I was the governor’s daughter, and them 
house - girls know they don’t daresn’t. Yit 
somehow out here — don’t you know — when 
anybody wants me, they thes say ‘ Phyllis ,’ and 
is done with it. But I’m adepending on the 
good Lord to direct me. Maybe it’ll seemeth 
to him best after awhile for me to make the 
move.” 

At length, with modest fear, she decided to 
try the change. Her visible property at this 
period was a negro girl, named Puss, now 
about fourteen years old, whom, like herself, 
left an orphan when a child, she had bought 
for a small price from a master who was glad 
to let her go into such keeping. Her invisible 
was promissory notes for perhaps a thousand 
dollars, which she easily called in. There was 
no work about the house that Puss had not 
learned well under the careful training of her 
mistress, by whom she was greatly prized both 
as a handmaid and a trusted companion and 


1 66 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


confidante. Within the last year the judgment 
of Puss was decided for the affirmative. 

“ Beca’se, you see, Miss Phyllis, in town, 
young ’oman like you what’s han’some and got 
prop’ty, en makin’ mo’, dee ken ketch a beau 
dat’ll be wuff havin’, name en all.” 

“You hussy! I expect you’re counting on 
catching one for yourself.” 

“ Dat I ain’; I ain’ old enough, en when I is, 
no nigger needn’t be cornin’ roun’ me, long as 
you single.” 

“ That’s a good girl.” 

I don’t know the lady’s exact age at this 
juncture; but she would have been hurt if she 
had heard of anybody’s guessing it to be over 
thirty. Tall and slim she was, indeed, yet no- 
body conscientiously could have said that she 
was what people called scrawny. What she 
may have been thought to lack in comeliness, 
she much more than made up in vigor and 
sprightliness of movement. Of the beaux whom, 
for aught I know, she had in her native region, 
this much only is certain — not one had proved 
satisfactory all around. 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


167 


And so the venture was made, the mistress, 
even in the midst of her perturbings, never fail- 
ing to smile whenever Puss told her hopes that, 
along with other good fortune, a man would 
present himself with all the qualities, name in- 
cluded, that would justify every reasonable ex- 
pectation. 

They got a nice little shop on College Avenue, 
commodious enough, with two rooms above and 
two in the rear, for all their needs, and Miss 
Phips very soon had every reason to be pleas- 
ed with the prospects. Her goods, upon which, 
not experienced in such things, she had laid 
an extremely reasonable margin, were taken 
so fast that new stock had to be brought almost 
constantly from Augusta in response to orders, 
not a single one of which ever so much as 
dreamed of going there without the cash in its 
pocket. 

On the opposite side of the street was the 
leading tailoring shop, which was kept by a 
man named Jordan. Among his employes was 
one who some months before had come there 
from Savannah. His name was Granville Quart- 


1 68 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


ley, and — but such a person as he was deserves, 
it seems to me, to begin a new chapter. 

II 

Somewhat below middle height, Mr. Quart- 
ley had a rather handsome face, a good figure, 
and dressed superbly. Even when seated on 
the bench with his work in his lap he and every- 
thing about him looked nice. When upon the 
street not a student of the college near by ever 
wore a sleeker hat, a jauntier blue or snuff col- 
ored velvet-collared coatee, a more checkered 
waistcoat, more striped trousers, or shinier 
shoes. Under this exterior was a singleness of 
nature which perhaps sought thus to be hidden 
for the sake of a certain ambition that, although 
indulged during the ten years since his coming 
to manhood, had not yet compassed its aims. 
This was to rise from journeyman and become 
head of a shop of his own. His notion was 
that in an up-country town like Athens, noted 
for its cultured society, the chances of his as- 
cent might be better than they were in Savan- 
nah where businesses of all kinds were entire- 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 169 

ly too prone, he thought, to keep themselves 
within old channels. He candidly made known 
to his employer, on beginning a temporary en- 
gagement, his trust that before very long his 
doing merely hired work would be a thing of 
the past. 

“ All right,” said Mr. Jordan, a very kind- 
hearted person; “ if it’s in you to go up, you’ll 
go up.” 

His work gave entire satisfaction. The boss 
did not scold even his extravagant dressing; 
for of course it wasn’t his business to be fault- 
finding about how many and how fine clothes 
people wore when their bills were settled 
promptly. Custom, especially from the stu- 
dents, soon began to improve. These often 
consulted the Savannah man’s tastes to the 
degree that kindled yet hotter his ambition. 

“Quartley,” one day said Nick Wilder, of 
the junior class, “ I wonder a fellow like you, 
handsome, tasty, stylish, and all that, don’t 
keep a shop of your own.” 

This was late on a Saturday afternoon, when 
they were about to cross each other at the 


170 SOMETHING IN A NAME 

gate of the college campus, the young man 
being on one of his tentative meditating 
parades. 

“My idea exactly, Mr. Wilder, and has 
been for a long time; but capital, sir, that’s 
what has kept in my way — capital.” 

“Capital? The want of it, you mean, I 
suppose.” 

“Of course; you understand.” 

“ I do, now. Haven’t you laid up anything ? ” 

“ Not to that extent, Mr. Wilder. I make 
money free; but I spend it free for — of course 
for the sake of necessary appearances. But 
I’m going to try to be more equinomical.” 

“ Equinomical ! Yes; I suppose that’s a 
good thing in its place. I never — but see 
here, Quartley, if I was in your place, with 
your looks, and your manners, and your gaits 
when promenading on the street, and could 
fix up myself like you can, I’d just go and 
marry some capital, and I’d do it quick while 
my blood was on me, blamed if I wouldn’t. 
Why don’t you just step across the street some 
time and take a net along with you, and haul 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 171 

in Miss Phips ? Do you know that that woman 
has money already, and is making perfect 
mints of it all the time ? ” 

“ Don’t talk so loud, please, Mr. Wilder,” he 
answered, looking furtively toward the milli- 
ner’s, a few rods distant. “ You think it would 
go?” 

“ I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Why, on 
general principles, man, a woman with the 
name of Miss Phips ought to be willing to 
swap it for the aristocratic one of Mrs. 
Granville Quartley , and give boot. No sir, I 
wouldn’t be surprised, and / should push a 
case like that to the very wall. Do you know 
her?” 

“Yes — not quite so loud, please. I am 
slight acquainted there.” 

Wilder, getting down to the ear of his list- 
ener, in a whisper that gasped for loud, pas- 
sionate expression, said, “ Then my advice is 
to push it ! ” 

They parted. Wilder on reaching his room, 
said to his chum: 

“Bolling, I gave just now, on the spur of 


172 SOMETHING IN A NAME 

the moment, some good advice to little Quart- 
ley — that was, to marry Miss Phips if he could 
get her.” 

“Capital idea ! They’d suit first rate. She 
don’t need very much of a man for a husband, 
and his name would make him the greatest 
plenty for her.” 

That night Mr. Quartley, gotten up in his 
very best, made a pointedly formal call across 
the street, and was received so kindly that he 
talked with much freedom of the Granvilles 
and the Quartleys of England, and perhaps of 
other countries and large islands, from all of 
whom, according to an aged aunt of the family 
who could go back nobody knew how far, 
there was not a doubt that they were descend- 
ed. Then he spoke, but with becoming indef- 
initeness, of his hope, after overcoming some 
few difficulties, of being able to place himself 
in a position where all the old ones of the 
names had been and where all the new ones 
ought to be. Miss Phips’s responses were as 
sympathetic as a delicate female can feel her- 
self at liberty to make in such circumstances; 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 1 73 

and when he rose to go and said that he had 
spent a delightful evening, she said she was 
glad of it; and when he said that he was com- 
ing again very shortly, she said she would be 
glad to see him. 

After he had gone, Puss came in from the 
keyhole in the next room, where she had been 
peeping and listening. 

“I’m de proudest nigger in dis whole town, 
I is.” 

“ What for, you hussy, that’s been evedrop- 
ping all the time Mr. Quartley was here ? ” 

“ Beca’se he’s the very man fer you, and he 
git closter and closter to you ev’y time he 
come.” 

“Pshaw ! I don’t suppose he cares anything 
or much about me; and, besides, even if he 
did, I don’t — no — I don’t know what sort of 
man he’d make to have about the house, and 
— don’t you think he’s too short for me, Puss?” 

“ No’m, dat I don’t. He des o’ de right lenk; 
beca’se you gwine be de man o’ de house your- 
seff, no marter who ’tis; en him bein’ small’ll 
make it easier fer you. To my opinion Mr. 


174 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


Gramle Quartle — er whut’s his name — is de 
very pootist man in dis town; en Miss Lucky’s 
’oman, whut wash fer him, say he de nicest in 
his underclo’s of enybody she wash fer.” 

‘‘Of course, such as that ought to go a good 
ways with a lady that can be neat herself, and 
could wish to always have neat people and 
neat things about her. I acknowledge that 
his name is perfec’ beautiful to the sound of it, 
and, if ruther small, he’s han’some, and have 
the look to be polite and obleeging, that no 
woman in my business would wish to be both- 
ered in the managing of it to suit herself. Oh 
— ho, me ! ” 

“Yes’m; glad to see you so contented in 
your mind.” 

“ But, Puss,” she said, with intense earnest- 
ness, “I would see my coffin and have the 
screws screwed in the very lid, and bear all its 
confwinements before I’d take one single step 
in this awful and interesting piece of business 
until I’m asked straight up and down.” 

“ No’m, dat I wouldn’t; but no need o’ dat. 
When you en him wus in here talkin’, Miss 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 175 

Lucky’s oman drapped in to fetch dem laces 
whar you wouldn’ let me do up, en you sent 
’em to her; en she say dat man told her you 
was de scrimshest young ’oman in dis whole 
town, en he c.x her opinion ef she think you’d 
marry; en she told him she didn’ know for 
cert’n; but she thought you’d take de leap in 
de dark, right man come around. En den de 
’oman ax me whut I thought; en I answered 
her, I b’lieved you would, ef you got suited; 
but I told her no man needn’t come at you 
widout he have a pootty name; and den I add 
dat I has heer’n you say dat man had de poot- 
est in de sound you ever heerd. En dat’s all I 
said.” 

“ You hussy ! But you’re a smart, good girl. 
Go on to bed. I know you’re sleepy.” 

“ Yes’m; en I’m thankful to de good Lord 
dat I is contented in my mind ’bout my mis- 
t’ess.” 


Ill 


Nick Wilder was delighted with the results 
of his encouraging counselings. He was made 


176 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


a confidant and was fond of talking about the 
brief courtship, the incipient modest retreating 
of Miss Phips before the begun onset, the 
lover’s pushing pursuit, her avowed reluctance 
subdued by assurings of him and Puss, the fi- 
nal yielding to resistless assaults from without 
and from within that little home. Yet it must 
not be believed that, before the final yes was 
said, prudent inquiries were not put to Mr. Jor- 
dan, and, honest man that he was, received 
plain answers. As far as he knew, Mr. Ouart- 
ley was a person of good character and habits, 
and, although subject to brief seasons of loss 
of temper and spirits, extremely amiable and, 
as Mr. Jordan believed, very affectionate. He 
could not say that he thought Mr. Quartley, 
although the very neatest of all his employes 
with his needle, was competent to run a shop 
of his own, because he could not cut and fit, 
and besides he knew not enough about the 
keeping of accounts and the general manage- 
ment of the business. 

“ But,” he said, in conclusion, “ I tell you 
again, Miss Phips, that he’s a amiable and a 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 177 

affectionate man, and I has no doubt but what 
marrying will improve him, specially to a wo- 
man like you who, he will speedy find out, 
wants no extravagance and not too fancy do- 
ings about you. What Mr. Quartley want is 
to have a manager, and under which my believe 
is that he could be brought to the scale of a 
good reason’ble husband to such. On my mind 
there ain’t a doubt that when he have learnt 
your business in all its ways, and its depart- 
ments and its dfr-partments, so to speak, you 
couldn’t find a handier man, nor woman, to 
’tend to it under your direction. But for that, 
he’ll kick against it at the offstart, and he’ll 
have to be broke in, and nobody can do that 
better than you can. And the way is just sim- 
ple enough. When he’s told to do it, and flares 
up about it, it’s to let him have rope to splurge 
hisself till he gets over it. It won’t last long. 
He may make threats about doing something 
desp’rate to hisself; but there’s never anything 
in that, as I found out by exper’ence. Yes, 
madam, as for a husband, and to attend to 
things under a sensible woman like you, my 


i;8 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


opinion is, that as soon as it can be put out of 
his head that he’s to run a big concern of his 
own, after some little cavorting, you to keep 
perfect cool, and making out like you ain’t 
anoticing him, nor bothering yourself about 
him, he’ll quiet down and be as affectionate and 
as handy as any woman in your business would 
want or desire to have a man about the house.” 

After these candid words, which Miss Phips 
construed to be more for than against the step, 
she felt secure in giving indulgence to her af- 
fection, to romance, and to pride. Many a bri- 
dal has been in that pretty little town among 
the hills; but I doubt if at ever a one of them 
the feelings of the bride were more innocently 
exultant than when this good mantuamaker to 
her few guests showed her visiting cards, com- 
ing all the way from Savannah, and inscribed 

MRS. GRANVILLE QUARTLEY, 

9 College Avenue, 

Athens, Ga. 

IV 

Mrs. Quartley, after having her new sign- 
board put over the door, decided (the first hoi- 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 1 79 

ldays she ever had), with her little man, to 
spend a fortnight at Helicon Springs, a water- 
ing place near by. Talks about business were 
kept out of this half of the first moon. The 
bride listened to stories of many Granvilles and 
not a few Quartleys, with interest that, keen in 
the beginning, began, after a while, like other 
sharp things after repeated use, to lose its first 
edge. Occasionally he made brief but warm 
allusions to his hopes which, until now, capital 
had delayed. Her notices of these were vague. 
He would willingly have remained longer, but 
at the end of the time set, using his services in 
the packing of both trunks, she led him back 
home. He had already learned that whatever 
she said, whether it was yes or no, she meant it. 

Puss was in ecstasy at their return, and de- 
clared that they looked as happy as two little 
chickens. She got for them a nice supper, and, 
if anything, a nicer breakfast next morning. 

After this meal, Mr. Quartley was much sur- 
prised to hear that the young woman who had 
been standing in the shop had been dismissed, 
but more so at these words : 


ISO SOMETHING IN A NAME 

“ My dear, you can attend to the business 
there for the present.” 

If he had been ordered to wash the dishes, 
clean off the table, make up the bed, and sweep 
the floor, he would have been not less at a loss 
what to answer. 

“ Why, my dear, you — yes, indeed you do.” 

“ No, darling, I don’t; that is I don’t mean 
to. It may come a little awkward to you at 
first, as you don’t know the price of things; 
but when I ain’t in the shop, I’ll be in here, 
where you can call me when you’re bothered. 
The girl was good enough in some respects; 
but she wa’n’t active and persuady as I just 
know you’re going to be, of which them that 
know you have spoke to me in splendidest lan- 
guage.” 

“ But — why, my dear, this is a kind of a female 
business which — why, of course — I — I should 
think not.” 

“ It’s not so female as to hurt, Mr. Quartley; 
and then there’s collars and neck handkerchiefs, 
and things for men, well as women. If I can 
sell to men-people, you can sell to women-peo- 


SOMETHING IN A NAME l8l 

pie, as many a man does, excepting of such 
articles, of course, that men is not expected to 
know that females wears them, and when 
they re wanted, they can call for me. But as 
you don’t appear prepar’d in your mind for it, 
you can thes walk about to-day, or you can 
set in here and talk to Puss, a not interrupting 
of her too much in her work.” 

Whereupon she went into the shop, opened 
the windows and stood watching for the early 
worm. 

Mr. Quartley looked alternately at Puss and 
the encompassing walls, and for awhile, per- 
haps, few parrots have felt more narrowly en- 
caged. 

“Puss,” he said, at length, “think she’s in 
downright earnest ?” 

“ Dat she is,” answered Puss, pausing not in 
her washing a plate. “ Miss’ don’ want no fool- 
ishness o’ no sort o’ nobody. When I don’ 
clean dese things to suit her, she take de rag 
out my hand and dis de way she do.” 

Then sousing the cloth in the dishpan, she 
dabbed the plate on the face in a manner per- 


182 something in a name 

fectly regardless. “ I know dat, en so I ’tends 
to my business de way she want, en when I 
does, she’s des good to me as she can be. But 
Miss’ never want no foolishness, she don’t.” 

“ Well,” he said, after a shudder and a long 
breath, “ when I brush my hat and clothes, I 
shall go down to the river. Some things a 
man can stand, and some he can’t.” 

While he was making ready for the threat- 
ened journey, Puss, more or less alarmed, 
slipped into the shop and whispered to her 
mistress. 

“All right, Puss, go back to your work,” 
she answered, continuing to brush off the 
counter. A few moments after, as the desper- 
ate man was walking with deep solemnity to 
the outer door, she said: “ My dear, if you go 
off the pavement, please roll up your breeches, 
because there’s been a rain, you know, and the 
mud in the streets is perfect awful.” 

“ Breeches ! ” he echoed, scornfully, as he 
emerged. After slowly perambulating the 
neighborhood for a few hours, he decided to 
pay a parting call to Nick Wilder. 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 1 83 

“ Why, hello, Quartley ! glad to see you. 
I’d congratulate you if you didn’t look so grum. 
What’s the matter ? Is your wife dead ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Wilder; but / shall be soon.” 

“My, my! that is news. Marrying been 
too much for you, Quartley ? ” 

“Oh, no, sir; but change of occupation — 
man like me can’t stand such as that, Mr. 
Wilder.” 

“ Ay, now I understand you. Going to sell- 
ing ribbons, corsets, and whalebones, and such 
things ? Well, I don’t know if I wouldn’t rather 
do that than have to be squatting everlastingly 
cross-legged on my haunches. But what you 
going to do about it ? ” 

“ There’s a river at the foot of this town, I’m 
told, and I’m on my way there.” 

“ Pshaw, Quartley, I took you for a man of 
some sense ! ” 

The bell for recitation ringing just then, he 
said, as he was proceeding to the call: “Well, 
I must bid you farewell, my dear fellow. That’s 
the reddest and muddiest stream in the world 
after a rain, not excepting the turbid Tiber ; 


184 SOMETHING IN A NAME 

and I should think about it awhile before I 
plunged into it. Besides, you’ve married what 
I should call tip-top, if you only knew it. But, 
by-by. Let us hear if anything comes of it.” 

“ Weren’t you ashamed to talk to the poor 
fellow that way, Nick ? ” said Bolling. 

“ The dickence ! there’s not the slightest 
danger, and, if there was, that’s the way to 
prevent it.” 

The suicide then slowly repaired to his late 
employer, who, being busy with looking over 
his books, had but few words to spare for 
him. 

“Well, Quartley, I don’t think I would; at 
least, not till I tried the business a while. 
Your wife, of course, will be shocked consid- 
er’ble at first; but my exper’ence is, women 
get over such things. She’s already got up 
her new sign of Mrs. Granville Quartley , and 
you adrowning of yourself, you may plank 
down your last dollar on that, it ain’t to not 
come down. And I’ll just swear, Quartley, 
that I wouldn’t like the idea, after I was dead, 
of people saying that, excepting of my name 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 185 

to give my wife, I wer’n’t of one continental 
red cent use to her, and so, a’cording, I 
drownded myself like a blind hound puppy, or 
a perfect unuseless kitten. Go on and do it, 
if it suit you; but I wouldn’t — which is the last 
words I’ve got to waste on you — I just wouldn’t, 
without I first pulled off them 'fine things, and 
I’d splunge in that water and mud just like I 
come in the world, blamed if I wouldn’t.” 

Shivering slightly, he turned away. Of his 
walkings over and over again to the brow of 
the declivity where the pavement ended and 
back again, the set limits of this story forbid 
narration. At dusk, being quite hungry, he 
thought he would go home and get his supper, 
leaving the future to take care of itself. Be- 
sides, irritated, though not violently, that 
neither his wife nor Puss had been inquiring 
about him on the streets, he felt it due to him- 
self to let them know that he was not as far 
gone as perhaps they had been supposing. 

“You darling dear!” said Mrs. Quartley, 
“I know you feel better. You show it in 
your very eyes; and just to think that you’ve 


86 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


come back without a speck of mud on your 
breeches ! ” 

Then she made him sit down at the table, 
and eat, and eat, and eat. 

In brief time, contrasting himself with what 
he might have been if fished out of the Oconee, 
he rose to calmness, to cheerfulness, to gayety, 
to energy, and, in the space before bedtime, 
let himself be inducted into some of the mys- 
teries of millinery, and expressed himself as 
gratified that they were not as unpleasant as 
he had been expecting. 

The Saturday afterward, as he was taking 
on College Avenue a promenade kindly al- 
lowed him, and calmly revolving the absorp- 
tion of his name and himself in a business new 
and unforeseen, meeting Wilder, the latter 
said: 

“ Why, Quartley ! you look like a new man.” 

“Think so, Mr. Wilder ?” 

“ Certainly. The only difficulty with you 
was, you were screwed up too tight. Let- 
ting you down has made you look natural as 
life.” 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 187 

“ I think I’m getting so, Mr. Wilder; I hope 
so, I thank you.” 

And he did get so, and the business pros- 
pered more and more. He became in a brief 
while the most active and efficient of clerks, 
the most manageable and uxorious of husbands. 
Nick used to tell that it was pleasant to note 
how, with the nimbleness of a gray squirrel, at 
a word or a sign from his wife he glided up and 
down on the step-ladder which she had pro- 
vided for him to reach the upper shelves. The 
Confederate war crippled them somewhat, but 
they rallied and prospered again. When they 
told Puss that she was free, she said: 

“ When Miss Phyllis drive me away I’m a- 
gwine, en not befo’.” 

Puss has had three husbands, never being 
quite sure whether or not she was ever a wid- 
ow. Assuming, like her mistress, to be the 
man in her own family, these gentlemen, 
after some little participation in her society, 
went, one after another, away, whether to 
drown themselves or simply to pass what the 
law calls “beyond seas,” she did not closely 


i88 


SOMETHING IN A NAME 


inquire; but to every one of those who pro- 
posed to be her fourth, she has answered: 

“ No, I thanky. I done tried three o’ you, 
en dem’s de greatest plenty for me. Marryin’ 
don’ seem like to me it’s my lot.” 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR 
COUSINS 


“I’ll make assurance doubly sure 
And take a bond of fate .” — Macbeth 

I 

^T’D rather be dead than live the life we’re 
living,” said Mrs. Sally Towns one day. 

“ But you’d a sight rather I was dead,” an- 
swered Mr. Tom Towns, her husband. 

“ I would not. God knows that neither of 
us is prepared to die. If I was, I’d pray to Him 
to take me this day.” 

“ Why, I thought you was always ready to 
sail right away to Heaven, and was jest waitin r 
to git rid o’ me, and carry out some of your 
projects.” 

“Make as much fun as you please, Mr. 
Towns. You’re a man and I’m a woman. 

You’re my husband and I’m your wife. You 

189 


190 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

know you can insult me and abuse me as much 
as you please, as you’ve been doing for the 
last twenty years and better. There’s nobody 
and nothing to hinder you. As for the prop- 
erty, and you know that at least half of it came 
by me, you’ve already given Ryal more than 
his part, if you were to die and a division was 
made betwixt him and me and Wiley. And 
now you say you’re going to town, to-morrow, 
and make another will, and give to Ryal, not 
only all the negroes except Bob and his fam- 
ily, but this very house, where I was born, 
where I was raised, where I married you, where 
Wiley was born. Well, sir, the law gives you 
the power, and you’ll take it, as you’ve always 
done with what power the law or anything else 
ever gave you. Do it, sir; I’ll never ask you 
again to remember me and Wiley in your will; 
and he will never ask you, as you know. But 
even if you could forget your wife at such a 
time, I can’t see, for the life of me I can’t see, 
how a father can forget his son.” 

The old man, who was full twenty-five years 
her senior, looked at her searchingly. 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 191 

“ Don't you think that, with Buck Sinkler to 
help you, and Wiley, you could manage to get 
along ? ” 

She blushed deeply, and instantly answered: 

“ Mr. Towns, if I’d been a man like you, and 
had the thoughts you’ve had or pretended to 
have about Buck Sinkler, I’d have killed Buck 
Sinkler before now, or I’d have killed my wife, 
or I’d have killed her son that had my name, 
or I’d have killed myself. I’d have killed some- 
body, certain.” 

“I ’spect you would.” 

“ I would, indeed. That’s the difference be- 
tween people. You’ve hinted and hinted about 
Buck Sinkler ever since I’ve been married to 
you, as if I wanted you to die so that — well, 
God only knows what all your thoughts have 
been, and He knows that they’ve had no just 
foundation. But when a man like you wants 
to outrage the feelings of a woman, especially 
if she’s his wife, he wants no foundation. The 
safest piece of meanness which a man can do 
in this world is meanness to his wife. The law 
gives him not only all her property, but the 


192 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

right to abuse her and slander her. As for 
Buck Sinkler, I don’t suppose he’s ever known 
of your thoughts about him, or if he has he’s 
too much self-respect and respect for me to 
care anything about them.” 

“ Respect for hisself, and you too, hah ! ” 

“ Yes, sir; respect for both. You don’t seem 
to understand how a man can have respect for 
his own honor and that of a poor, helpless, 
abused woman at the same time.” 

I do believe she wants me dead ! ” he said, 
bitterly. 

“ No, sir. You needn’t believe, and as to 
that, you don’t believe any such thing. Little 
as you know me, it’s enough for you to be cer- 
tain that I’m no murderer, in deed or in heart, 
and if I could be, that I wouldn’t in the case of 
my own husband and the father of my own and 
only child.” 

“ How do I know that ? ” and his pale 
wrinkled face anguished with the pangs of un- 
disguised incertitude. 

“Know what?” she asked, her fiery blue 
eyes piercing him to the heart. “ Know 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 193 

what ? Oh, my God ! What does this man 
mean ! ” 

At that moment Wiley Towns entered the 
room, having just returned from the field. 

“ There’s one of the persons,” said his moth- 
er, “ that we were talking about. You may as 
well let him hear what it was you want to say 
about his mother and about him.” 

They were two powerful men. The father, 
known as Long Tom Towns, was six feet three 
inches tall, or had been before age had bent 
him, black-eyed, and once black-haired, with 
high cheek bones, a Roman nose, even in ad- 
vanced age giving signs of mighty strength of 
will and muscle and bone. The son, an inch 
shorter, was strikingly like him, except that he 
had his mother’s complexion of eyes, hair, and 
flesh. In spite of his plain manners and coun- 
try breeding, he had the looks and carriage of 
a thorough gentleman. 

“ What is it, mother ? ” he said tenderly, taking 
her hand, but proceeding no further in his endear- 
ment. “ What’s the matter with mother, father ? 
Threatening her yet again about your will ? ” 


194 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

The father looked with some embarrassment 
upon his son who, scarcely twenty years of 
age, fixed his eyes upon him and began calmly, 
sadly, to remonstrate with him. 

“ Father, it’s time these troubles between 
you and mother should stop. Why they should 
ever have started, goodness knows. You’ve 
never seemed to know mother, somehow, fa- 
ther.” 

He had put his arm around his mother and 
drew her toward him. The feelings he could 
no longer repress now showed themselves in 
his looks and in his words. 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea that you do 
know one fact about her, father, and that is 
that she’s the best woman upon the top of the 
ground. For some reason God Almighty 
knows, I don’t, you’ve been always hard with 
her and slighted her, and — sometimes you’ve 
appeared to be suspicious. I — I don’t — my 
God — I don’t know whether you’ve been sus- 
picious of her or not, nor what about. But 
with all the opportunities you’ve had, you’ve 
never found out what she was worth to you, 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 195 

and that all your suspicion about her — if 
you’ve got any — ain’t worth hell’s room.” He 
paused, and with his disengaged hand shaded 
his eyes for a few moments. Partly subdu- 
ing his excitement, he looked at his father 
calmly: 

“ Father, you’ve already given off to Brother 
Ryal a considerable part of the property. All 
right. It was yours to do with what you pleas- 
ed, and neither mother nor I ever objected to 
it. You’ve often threatened to disinherit her 
entirely, and me in part — that is, you’ve so 
threatened to her; never to me. Now, I’m 
going to say this: I’d rather you’d go on and 
do what you intend, provided you do so quietly, 
than to keep on threatening about it. If you 
cut her out by your will, you may as well do 
the same by me, for every cent you leave to 
me I shall consider hers, and not my own ; 
understand that at once. Never mind, mother,” 
he continued, drawing her yet closer, “ I can 
not only support you, but I can make you rich. 
If we were thrown out of house and home 
Cousin Buck will let us have his Gum Hill 


196 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

place free of rent until I can make enough to 
buy one for our own.” 

He felt his mother give a slight shudder at 
the mention of the name of Buck Sinkler. His 
father’s face became yellow. 

“ Your Cousin Buck, hah ! ” he cried, tremb- 
ling with more than one wretched thought. 
“ Already makin’ your arrangements, hah ! 
Ryal’s right, damned if he ain’t! I’m goin’ to 
Ryal, and I swear — ” 

It was a horrid oath. Then ordering his 
horse — it was late in the evening — he rode 
away. 

“ What upon earth did he mean by those 
words, mother ? ” asked Wiley in stupefied as- 
tonishment. 

“Oh, Wiley, Wiley!” 

She threw her arms around him and they 
both wept sore. 

II 

For fifty years Long Tom Towns had been 
what they called a rusher. Beginning his in- 
dependent career a poor orphan, he accumu- 


THE TOWNSES AND TIIEIR COUSINS 197 

lated property rapidly, and at the death of his 
first wife, leaving one child, was one of the 
wealthiest men in the neighborhood. His 
plantation joined that of Mr. John Sinkler, 
whose daughter and only child, Sally, was 
twenty years old. Buck Sinkler, her cousin, of 
about her age, living about a mile away, had 
always loved her the best in the world. But 
somehow Long Tom, employing his accus- 
tomed energy, prevailed, and, the second 
wife’s parents having died shortly after the 
marriage, the two plantations were united. 

The conversation recited in the foregoing 
chapter must serve for a brief history of this 
ill-assorted marriage. The law in Georgia 
then, as in most States of the Union, in imita- 
tion of the common laws o f England, gave to 
the husband all his wife’s estate that he could re- 
duce to his possession in her lifetime, and even 
after her death made him administrator, with- 
out liability to render account, and therefore 
heir of all the estate in which, when dying, she 
had an interest, vested or contingent. Such 
rights and powers, in such a man as Tom 


198 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

Towns, often led to unhappy consequences, 
especially where the disparity of age in the 
husband and wife was great, as in this case, 
and the husband prone to jealousy. Matters 
seemed now to have culminated. Broken in 
health at last by age, by exposure in all sorts 
of weather, by long yielding to stormy and evil 
passions, Tom Towns had gradually fallen un- 
der control of Ryal, his elder son, who now 
dwelt at the house where he had lived prior to 
his second marriage. 

On the day following that on which the last 
interview was held with his wife and Wiley, 
he and Ryal went on horseback to the coun- 
ty seat. Their way lay for half a mile toward 
Dukesborough, and then diverged southeast- 
ward to the highway leading from the latter to 
the former village. On the same day Wiley 
Towns went to Dukesborough. His taking his 
gun along was not extraordinary, as such an 
action was frequent among country youth in 
those times, when game of several sorts was 
abundant. 

But Wiley was not himself that day. He 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 199 

came early under the influence of liquor for 
the first time in his life. Then he talked freely 
and bitterly of his father, especially of the 
latter’s treatment of his mother. 

It was late in the afternoon before he could 
be induced to leave. Finally old Mr. Lead- 
better got him upon his horse, and he went 
reeling away, holding to the mane; his gun 
swung by a leathern strap dangling at his 
side. 

Two shots, with a short interval between, 
an hour later. The sound came up from the 
bottom a quarter of a mile north of Little 
Joe Willis’s. They heard them distinctly at 
old Mr. Jonikin’s, a mile further south, where 
Mrs. Willis was on a visit. Mrs. Towns, 
already anxious about Wiley’s prolonged ab- 
sence, especially in his state of mind, was 
startled, put up her sewing and walked to the 
gate. Two horses came up saddled, bridled, 
but riderless, galloping. They were her hus- 
band’s, and Ryal’s. A few minutes afterward, 
as she was walking rapidly down the road, 
she met Joe driving slowly his wagon, and 


200 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

Ryal leading, behind, Wiley’s horse. In the 
wagon was the dead body of Tom Towns. 

“ My God ! ” she exclaimed, “ what is this, 
Ryal ? ” 

“ You see for yourself,” answered Ryal. 

“Where’s Wiley?” 

“Wiley? He’s down in the bottom, or 
’twixt here and there.” 

She looked for a moment upon her husband’s 
body with horror and then rushed on down the 
road. 

“ You see how it is, Joe,” said Ryal. 

“ Jes’ so, Ryal,” said Joe. 

They turned in the yard and drove to the 
house door. Soon Mrs. Towns came up, lead- 
ing her son, whose swollen face and bloodshot 
eyes were piteous and terrible to see. 

“I hardly think it was done o’ purpose, 
Joe,” said Ryal when they had taken out the 
body, carried it into the house and returned to 
the gate. “ I can’t hardly believe it was done 
o’ purpose.” 

Joe Willis was much confused as well as hor- 
rified. 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 201 


“I hope not, Ryal. Leastways, I should 
wish — in fact, I should both wish and hope — ” 

“ You better go for Mr. Jonikins, Joe, hadn’t 
you ? ” 

“ I think so,” answered Joe, eagerly, and 
started off. 

“Joe,” said Ryal, detaining him for a mo- 
ment, “see here, Joe. It’s not exactly the 
time to be talkin’ about business; but I want 
to tell you that pa told me, no longer’n yis- 
terday, that he didn’t hardly think that he 
treated you exactly right about the heater, and 
that if he lived he intended to let you have it on 
reasonable terms. But he told me that if he 
died — and, Joe, pa seemed to have a suspicion 
that he wasn’t going, somehow, to live long — 
you mind what I’m a savin’, Joe?” 

“ Co’se I do, Ryal.” 

“ Yes, he seem to’spicion that too many was 
agin him for him to live long, and so he told 
me that if he should die — he was very keer- 
ful to say if— he wanted me to let you have 
the heater on reasonable terms, and I made up 
my mind to let you have it — well, for little or 


202 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

nothin’, Joe. It ain’t exactly the time to be 
talkin’ about business, but yit, knowin’ how 
you’d been worried and put to trouble about 
that heater, I thought I’d let you know what 
pa said about it, and what I done already made 
up my mind I’d do. You mind, Joe ?” 

“Yes, Ryal : thanky, thanky,” said Joe, 
moving off. Then he muttered to himself: 
“ Dammdest case I ever see or heerd of.” 

Ill 

They buried the old man behind the garden. 
The funeral service was short and constrained. 
There was agitation in the public mind, but it 
was silent. What sympathy was expressed 
was mostly for the widow, and next, strange 
as it seemed, for Wiley, whose heart seemed 
broken by remorse. Ryal was pale and tear- 
less. He gave minute directions about the 
burial. When the grave was filled he took a 
spade from a bystander, smoothed it down 
from head to foot, scraped the clods carefully 
away, then, after looking at it for a few mo- 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 20$ 

ments, as if it were his grave and nobody else 
had any interest in it, turned away. 

“ I can’t think,” said Ryal to Mr. Jonikin, in 
presence of others of the neighbors, “ that is — 
I don’t like to think that Wiley did it o’ pur- 
pose. Wiley was drunk, you know, Mr. Joni- 
kin, and for the onliest time — at least the 
onliest time I ever heerd of — in his life. He 
were mighty mad with pa, that’s a fact, es- 
pecially about somethin’ pa said to ma yis- 
terday. So he said when we got to him where 
he was alayin’ down in the road, and pa called 
to him. He talked rough to pa and pa talked 
rough to him. Wiley were mighty drunk and 
mighty mad. When I see him raise his gun I 
jumped to take it from him but I was too late. 
Yit Wiley, mad as he were, didn’t seem to know 
exactly what he was adorn’ nor what he done. 
To save my life I can’t believe that Wiley 
knowed fully what he were about, and it’s my 
hopes that the neighbors mayn’t think so.” 

Wiley Towns was overwhelmed. Yet he 
protested innocence of having shot his father 
intentionally. He admitted to have felt very 


204 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

great indignation against him for certain treat- 
ment he had inflicted upon his mother the pre- 
vious day, and he therefore supposed that, un- 
der the influence of liquor, while in a quarrel 
on the road, he had fired. The day after the 
funeral he rode to town and offered himself to 
the sheriff, who sent him back home on his pa- 
role to appear if prosecution should be insti- 
tuted. This conduct, coupled with the rumor 
that Tom Towns had disinherited by will his 
wife entirely and left almost nothing to Wiley, 
enhanced yet more the sympathy for them. 

“ Somebody ought to ’a’ killed such a man,” 
said Mrs. Joe Willis. 

“ And sure enough they did, Mandy,” said 
Joe. “ Uncle Tom weren’t the friend to me 
that he promised ma on her death-bed to be — 
that is, not exactly, and he never treated me 
exactly right about the heater. Still I’m sorry 
— well, I hope now I’ll git it.” 

“Joe, that heater, as you call it, don’t seem 
to be ever off your mind.” 

“ Well, Mandy, nobody wants to be flung 
into a heater if he can help it.” 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 20$ 

“ I suppose not, from the worry yours gives 
you.” 

“ It ain’t mine. That’s the mischief of it. 
It’s Uncle Tom’s, arunnin’ right into me.” 

“ All the same,” she said laughing; “but 
what makes you expect to get out of it now ? ” 

“ Ryal done said I could have it.” 

** Good gracious, Joe ! You and Ryal ought 
both to be ashamed of yourselves, talking 
about such things so soon.” 

Joe was a little ashamed. Now this heater 
was the one great trouble on the mind of Joe 
Willis. What was known among planters as a 
“•heater,” called thus, according to tradition, 
from the smoothing iron used by laundresses, 
was a triangular piece of ground protruding 
from one into another plantation, thereby ren- 
dering fencing of it troublesome and expen- 
sive. The being “ flung into a heater ” was 
most especially disagreeable to small farmers. 
Joe Willis, who was the nephew of Tom 
Towns’s first wife, had besought him often to 
take him out of the heater; but the former, who 
enjoyed his worrying in that regard, had al- 


206 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

ways persisted in demanding a price that he 
was unable to pay. Yet Joe, hopeful as he 
was now of relief, felt somewhat ashamed by 
this remark of his wife, and went off to himself 
and ruminated. 

The person most avowed in expression of 
sympathy for the widow and Wiley was Buck 
Sinkler. He was yet a bachelor, hearty in 
body and mind, thriving, the owner of two 
plantations, Gum Hill and that containing his 
residence two miles west of the Townses’. Ever 
fond of his Cousin Sally, he had visited often 
the house in former years, until Towns’s mo- 
roseness kept him away. He and Wiley, how- 
ever, were very often together, and to Wiley 
he was drawn the more closely because of his 
father’s growing partiality for Ryal, who was 
Buck’s brother-in-law, to whose intermarriage 
with his sister, ten years before, he had been 
vehemently opposed. 

“ Ryal,” he would say of his brother-in-law, 
“ always had the same claws as his father. I 
could see ’em, but he managed to keep ’em hid 
from Sis Nancy till she married him. He is 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 20 J 

and always was as regular a chip of the block 
as were ever clipped off with a hatchet, only 
he’s sly in his meanness, while his father 
weren’t. Tom Towns didn’t care if people 
knowed he was mean, so he could keep on 
getting property. Well, I’m sorry that Wiley 
killed him, but I shall always believe it was 
an accident. As he had to die, it’s a pity he 
didn’t before he signed that cussed will. I 
want to see now how Ryal’s goin’ to look 
when him and Sis Nancy move into that house 
arfter Cousin Sally and Wiley move out. I 
haven’t seen Sis Nancy, for Ryal and I ain’t as 
thick as brothers-in-law might be expected to 
be. But I can’t believe that Sis Nancy’s goin’ 
to be satisfied to see Cousin Sally drove out o’ 
that house where she was born, and have to 
begin life over again. Take the case up and 
down, by and large, over and under, all round, 
it’s a cussed bad case.” 

IV 

The following is a part of a dialogue had 
between Ryal Towns and his wife on Saturday 


208 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 


night, after the homicide, which occurred on 
Wednesday afternoon: 

“ Ryal, what’s this talk about your pa’s will- 
ing all the property to you and cutting out 
Cousin Sally and Wiley ?” 

“ Who told you about it ? ” 

“ Mandy Willis. She was over here this even- 
ing, and said Joe told her so, and she said that 
you had promised to let Joe have the twenty- 
acre heater next to him for almost nothing.” 

“ I think Mandy might find enough to do at 
home to keep her from here, meddlin’ with my 
business.” 

“ I don’t see how that is meddling, Ryal. 
Mandy is not a meddlesome woman, either; 
but is it so ? ” 

“ No it ain’t. Wiley’s left Bob, his wife, and 
his youngest child, and ma’s left what furni- 
tures he had when pa married her.” 

“ Is that all ? and the house and Sinkler 
place, that ain’t Cousin Sally’s ? ” 

“ No ; it’s ours.” 

She arose and walked a time or two across 
the room, then paused in front of her husband, 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 209 

who, during the rest of the conversation, sel- 
dom looked toward her. 

“What do you mean by ‘ ours,’ Ryal ? ” 

“ Why mine, Nancy, and yours.” 

“ You may well say ‘ mine; ’ but there you 
might have stopped ; for I have no part or lot 
in that piece of property.” 

He looked at her for a moment, and his dark 
face flushed. 

“ I never see such a woman as you, Nancy, 
to stand in the way of your own interest.” 

“ Ryal,” she said, endeavoring to be calm, 
“ we’ve had, that is, you’ve had from your pa, 
what, if the property was divided between you 
three, would be your part, and the cause of it 
is not that your pa loved you so much ; but, 
more than anything else, because Cousin Sally 
and Wiley both liked Brother Buck, and your 
pa hated him.” 

“I don’t know; I can’t say that pa really 
hated Buck.” 

“ Yes you do know it, Ryal, and you never 
tried to keep him from hating him, although 
he’s your wife’s only brother.” 


210 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

“You’re mistaken, Nancy. I like Buck 
Sinkler myself. Leastways I’ve tried to get 
him to like me, but he never comes anigh me, 
nor anigh you, as to that, exceptin’ when he 
knows that he won’t meet long o’ me.” 

He uttered this in a piteous tone. 

“ And that’s because he thinks you’ve help- 
ed to prejudice your pa against Cousin Sally 
and Wiley.” 

“ It’s no sich a thing,” he said, doggedly. 

“ Ah, well, then let that go. But tell me 
now, Ryal — have you been expecting to move 
over yonder when Cousin Sally and Wiley 
gather up their few things and start wandering 
around for victuals and shelter ?” 

“ Nancy, you didn’t s’pose that I were goin’ 
to let ma and Wiley suffer ? ” 

“That’s neither here nor there. Are you 
expecting to move over there ? ” 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, I am. But I 
’tend to let ’em have this place until Wiley can 
get one of his own, and I made up my mind 
not to charge one cent o’ rent.” 

“Well, Ryal,” she said in a low voice, 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 21 1 


4i there’s one person that’s not going there to 
live, and that person’s me.” 

“ Name o’ God, Nancy ! what do you mean ?” 

“ You’ve called on the right name, Ryal,” 
she continued, trembling, but not with mortal 
fear. “ It’s a name that ain’t been called on in 
these two families, as a habit; leastways, like 
it ought to be — the more’s the pity. If I was 
willing to move over there — and Cousin Sally’s 
work has made it the prettiest in the neighbor- 
hood — it’s because of the name of God that I’d 
be afraid to go. Ryal, you’re my husband; I’ve 
been a true wife to you; you’ve been a man 
that for a wife to get along with, she has to 
take a heap of pains, because you’re hard to 
please, and you’re slow to let it be known when 
you are pleased.” 

She sat down, looked into the fire, and her 
eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away 
and proceeded : 

“ I don’t say that you’ve been cruel to me, but 
you’ve hurt my feelings, and many times when 
you didn’t intend to do it and didn’t know you 
done it. You’ve been hard on the negroes that 


212 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 


came by me, and you’ve never liked my broth- 
er. But as to that I’ve never been so much 
hurt, because there was never much love to 
lose betwixt you and Brother Buck. You’ve 
hurt me the worst by the way you’ve treated 
Cousin Sally and hinted to your pa about her, 
and prejudiced him against her. She’s not 
only my cousin, but she’s a woman, and any 
woman that’s a true one is obliged to feel hurt 
when she sees another true woman put upon 
in ways that hurt her the worst. Such as that 
goes to a woman’s — heart!” She uttered 
the last word almost with a scream, then rose 
and stood before her husband, who yet kept 
his seat and looked upon the floor. 

“ And when you ask me in the name of 
God what I mean, I answer that that’s what I 
mean, and that I’d no more go to live in that 
house, that is, in the way you’ve been think- 
ing about, than I’d make my bed upon your 
pa’s grave ! ” 

He started for a moment, but controlled his 
anger. She saw it, yet felt no alarm. 

“ And not even,” said he, “ when he was kill- 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 213 

ed by his own son, and the son of the woman 
we’re talkin’ about ? ” 

“ Ryal, you’ve told me, and you’ve told other 
people that you hardly thought that Wiley 
knew what he was about when he shot his fa- 
ther, and that you were certain he wouldn’t have 
done such a thing if he hadn’t been drunk. 
Mr. Jonikin says that when Wiley got to the 
house with Cousin Sally, he was so drunk that 
he wouldn’t believe and could hardly be made 
to understand that his father was dead. But let 
that all go. Cousin Sally had nothing to do 
with that; and yet it was his suspicion of her 
that made him sign such a will. You knew it 
was, Ryal. He loved Wiley more than he did 
you. He told you so more than once, and be- 
fore me. The very night he staid here he said 
he intended to leave Wiley all of Bob’s family, 
and this place as long as Cousin Sally remain- 
ed a widow, and now he’s left that out. How 
it happened I don’t know.” 

Ryal looked at her for a moment and seemed 
to be considering how to reply. 

“ Another thing, Ryal. When your mother 


214 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

died you were a sickly child. I’ve heard Mr. 
Jonikin and Mrs. Jonikin say that Cousin Sally, 
though she was scarcely grown when she mar- 
ried your pa, yet from the very day she married 
him, took you, and nobody who didn’t know 
better would have believed but that you were 
her own child; and she raised you and carried 
you through years of sickness, until you got 
over it, and that not even when Wiley was born 
did she ever make any difference with you ex- 
cept to make Wiley give way to you, which the 
boy’s always done and does yet.” 

“ My Godamighty, Nancy ! What has that 
got to do with it ? ” he said with quivering voice. 

“ I don’t know what it’s got to do with you, 
Ryal,” she answered, looking him in the face 
with dilated eyes; “ but with me it’s got this — 
that even if I believed that Wiley shot his fa- 
ther in cold blood and with a clear head — and I 
haven’t a doubt that it was an accident, for that 
boy never could be a murderer, drunk or sober 
— yetfor Sally’s sake I could not go to that house 
to live; no more — you hear me say it again — 
than I could make my bed upon your pa’s grave.” 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 21 5 

She left him immediately and went off to bed. 
Ryal sat up much later. 

V 

On that same night another conjugal chat 
was had in the neighborhood. Joe Willis had 
returned from his field, eaten his supper silent- 
ly, and he and his wife sat before the fire. She 
had been waiting to see him settled and still; 
for he was naturally a restless little man, and, 
I suppose I ought to add, remarkably hand- 
some, as this was the main reason why he had 
succeeded in getting such a wife. 

“Joe, Nancy Towns says she isn’t going to 
move over to your Aunt Sally’s, and she says 
that if she was in your place, she wouldn’t go 
to fencing in that heater, at least yet awhile.” 
She had other things to say to her husband; 
but she determined to withhold them for the 
present. Ryal had been over there that morn- 
ing, and said that he might move his fence at 
once, and pay his own price, and at his own 
time, and Joe was ruminating. 


216 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

“ Nancy,” he answered, with his usual cour- 
ageous start in discussing with his wife ques- 
tions on which they were not in entire accord, 
“Nancy may ’tend to her own business, Man- 
dy, and I’ll try to ’tend to mine.” 

“The reason she gives, Joe, is that she thinks 
the property belongs, or ought to belong, and 
if justice is done will belong, as much to your 
Aunt Sally and Wiley as to Ryal.” 

“ Nancy don’t know anything about it, Man- 
dy,” said he petulantly. “ Women don’t un- 
derstand about land, nor the titles to land. 
Now, Mandy, the titles to all the land up to 
last Wednesday evenin’, them titles lay in 
Uncle Tom, the heater and all, and which, as 
to that, he’d ’a’ never took me out where he 
flung me. But you see now, Mandy, Uncle 
Tom he’s dead, and the title’s outen him and 
settled in Ryal, accordin’ to the will he left. 
And, therefore, Mandy, them titles — ” 

“ Look at me, Joe. Turn around, and look 
at me,” for Joe sat with his back not exactly 
opposed to, but quartering to her, and looked 
up at the ceiling wisely and intently as he de- 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 2\J 

livered himself of these legal dicta. “ Turn 
right around and look at me — there. Nancy 
says that your Uncle Tom, from what Ryal 
tells her, did not give to Wiley the property 
that he said he was going to give him the very 
night before he made his will.” 

“ Lor’ me, Mandy, can’t a man change his 
mind, and especially about the makin’ of wills 
and passin’ the titles to landed property ? A 
man may talk, and talk, and talk, both before 
and after, as to that matter, he’d signed the 
papers; but it’s not his talk neither before nor 
after, that passes the titles, but it’s the papers, 
and which Nancy, and in fact wimming in 
general — ” 

“ As for changing a man’s mind, Joe, of 
course he can do that. I’ve known you even 
to do that when you found you was wrong — ” 

“ Oh, thunder ! ” and Joe resumed his former 
position. 

“ — As you’re certain to do now.” 

He turned square around again. 

“What about that heater that’s made me 
keep up two strings o’ fence for the last ten 


218 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

years when I oughtn’t to’ve kep’ up but one, 
and hit a short one ? I tell you, Mandy — ” 

She rose, lifted her chair, and set it down 
close by her husband. 

“Joe, there’s something mighty bad about 
all this business.” 

“Good gracious me alive, Mandy ! It is a 
bad piece o’ busines; but is it any o’ mine ? Did 
I have anything to do with the makin’ o’ Uncle 
Tom’s will or the — or the — shootin’ of him ?” 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for 
asking me any such a question.” 

“Well, you look like — ah, you look like — 
you ’spicioned.” 

“ Well, Joe, if I look that way I deceive my 
looks, as the saying is. Of course, we all know 
how your Uncle Tom was killed, but every- 
body believes it was an accident; but that’s 
got nothing to do with the other business.” 

“ Of co’se it ain’t. If it had — ” Joe got up, 
and walked the floor. 

“You see, Mandy,” said he, returning to 
calm discussion of legal principles, “when I 
once gits the heater into my possession, my 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 219 

peaceable possession, you mind, Mandy, so far 
as Ryal’s concerned the titles to the property,, 
and landed property, Mandy, ’s a thing that 
women, as a general thing — not that I don’t 
think a heap of Nancy, and suppose you know,, 
leastways you ought to know, my opinion of 
you.” 

Joe rubbed his curly head passionately as he 
walked up and down. 

“Joe,” said his wife, turning and following 
him with her eyes as he walked, “ you’ve never 
taken my advice and been sorry for it.” 

“ Mandy,” said Joe, pausing, looking at his 
wife, and speaking almost in a whisper, “ I’m 
afraid not to go on to fencing that heater 
arfter Ryal told me to. Ryal Towns is my 
cousin; but he’s — Ryal’s a curious fellow.” 

She rose up instantly. 

“Joe, let me ask you a question. Aren’t 
you a man ? ” 

“ What did you say, Mandy ? ” 

“ I’ll try to speak distinct, so that there 
mayn’t be a mistake. I asked Mister Josiah 
Willis if he wasn’t a man.” 


220 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

“ If I ain’t — if I ain't mistaken ’bout my own 
sect, I — I am. Leastways, I’ll go so far as to 
give it as my opinion, that I think I am.” 

“ Well, then, I’d be a man, and I’d keep on 
being a man. You are one man and Ryal 
Towns another, and I can’t see how one man, 
if he is a man, can be afraid of another man, 
who is nothing more than a man. And yet 
there stands my husband, whom I love better 
than my own life, who acknowledges — ” 

She put her hand to her eyes, turned from 
him, and sobbed. 

“ Oh, Joe, Joe! ” she proceeded, yet weeping; 
“ you are as honest-hearted a man as ever 
lived, in spite of the wretched examples you’ve 
had in your Uncle Tom and Ryal. Thank 
God, you’ve never loved ’em much. But I 
didn’t think you was afraid of ’em, and until 
this very week you haven’t been ; and I want 
to know what it’s about, and I’m going to find 
out before I go to bed.” Then clearing her 
face she continued, “ But before I do that, I’ll 
give you a message that was left here for you 
this evening by Buck Sinkler.” 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 221 


“ Who from ? ” 

“ William Mobley.’ 

Joe started. “ What upon earth can Wil- 
liam Mobley want with me ? ” 

“ That I can’t tell ; but he told Buck to tell 
you that he wanted to see you on urgent busi- 
ness a Monday morning, unless you could go 
to town to-morrow. The will’s agoin’ to be 
brought into court a Monday, and he wants to 
see you beforehand. He was going to send 
the sheriff with a paper of some sort to you ; 
but Buck said it wasn’t worth while, because 
he’d tell you. And he said also to Buck that 
from what he had heard about the will he be- 
lieved he could break it.” 

Joe walked rapidly across the room several 
times without saying a word. 

She watched him as he walked. On one 
side of the fireplace was a cradle in which lay 
asleep another little Joe, a year old. She 
rose, went to the cradle, pulled the covering 
from the child’s face and said : 

“ Come here, Joe.” 

He came. 


222 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

“ Look down there. There lies Joe Willis 
the second, beautiful like his father, and loved 
by me next to his father. But do you know, 
Joe, that I’d rather he would die to-night, 
there in his cradle, than to grow up to a man and 
be afraid to do right for fear of another man ? ” 

Joe pulled at his hair as if he hated it. She 
took a chair, and drew another close beside it ; 
then said : 

“ Come here, Joe; sit down by me, and let us 
talk, heart to heart, as we promised to do, with 
each other.” 

Joe took the chair. They sat long together 
and their talk was the beginning of a conjugal 
career happier than it had ever been before. 

VI 

Ryal Towns was deeply pained by the 
knowledge of the sympathy there was in the 
neighborhood for his stepmother and brother, 
and the universal sentiment that the homicide 
was wholly accidental. Late on Sunday after- 
noon he rode over to Joe Willis’s. Finding 
that Joe was gone to town he was greatly sur- 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 223 

prised, and asked of his wife the reason. She 
answered that William Mobley had sent a 
message to him that he wished to see him, but 
about what she could not say. Mr. Sinkler 
who brought it didn’t know. He mused awhile, 
then without alighting from his horse, turned 
and rode back. 

The court having jurisdiction of the estates 
of minors and deceased persons, with that of 
general public county business, consisted of 
five justices, resident citizens. The greater 
part of Monday had been consumed in the 
matters of roads and bridges, and it was mid- 
way in the afternoon before the consideration 
of the ordinary business came on. When it 
did, Mr. Elam Sandige, as counsel for Ryal 
Towns, propounded the last will and testament 
of Thomas Towns in common form ; that is, 
without formal notice to all parties presumed 
to be interested, a procedure which made it 
unnecessary to seriously contest at this junc- 
ture. William Mobley, a young lawyer, and a 
relative of the Sinklers, had been retained by 
Buck to watch the case and obtain whatever 


224 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

was possible for Mrs. Towns and Wiley. This 
he was endeavoring to do, and, as a start in 
working the case had sent the message to Joe 
Willis, with whom, on Monday morning, he 
had a long conferer^e. 

When the case was opened he asked of Mr. 
Sandige permission to inspect the paper pro- 
pounded , read it carefully and then rose and said : 

“ May it please your honors, the paper pro- 
pounded seems to have been executed in con- 
formity to all legal requirements. In the cod- 
icil of the will, however, but for reasons which 
it is not now necessary to explain, I might 
contend, on the part of those whom I represent, 
there are conditions which tend to show that 
the testator’s mind was not fully determined 
when the will was signed. But I propose to 
put the case of my clients upon other grounds.” 

Then taking his hat, he withdrew from the 
court house and went to his office. 

“ It’s no use talking, Buck,” he said an hour 
afterward, as, with the latter and the sheriff, 
Triplett, standing in the vestibule of his office, 
he looked at Ryal while, with his letters testa- 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 225 

mentary in his hand, he was making for his 
horse standing at the rack on the public 
square; “I don’t blame you for wanting it 
stopped, but you can’t stop such things, Buck; 
God Almighty won’t let them stop. I sus- 
pected how it was from the first.” 

Ryal unhitched his horse and had his foot in 
the stirrup ready to mount, when Triplett’s 
hand was laid upon his shoulder. He shrank 
as if it were a heavy bar of heated iron. 

“ I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Towns,” 
said Triplett, “but I’ve a paper for you.” He 
held it up before his face so he could see the 
superscription. 

“My God!” exclaimed Ryal, and leaned 
against the rack. “Who says so, Triplett? 
Who started this?” Further utterance was 
choked in his throat. He requested to be al- 
lowed to go to Mr. Sandige’s office. The 
sheriff conducted him thither and waited at the 
door until he emerged. Then, as it was too 
late to procure bail, even if allowable, Triplett, 
by consent of Mobley, rather than imprison 
him in jail, took him to his own house for the 


226 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

night. Buck Sinkler had already sent a mes- 
senger to Wiley requesting him to notify Ryal’s 
wife that he would be arrested on a criminal 
charge, without saying what. It was late at 
night when Wiley reached town with his sister- 
in-law, as their residence was sixteen miles 
distant. Old Triplett could never speak of the 
meeting of husband and wife without tears. 
Ryal assured her of his innocence, and she 
thoroughly believed it. Neither Ryal nor his 
wife slept that night. She lay by his side, and 
they conversed the livelong night. Stung to 
the heart by not finding her brother there (he 
had returned home by another way), she clung 
closer to her husband, and when the morning 
came felt that never, since the day of her mar- 
riage, had she loved him so entirely. 

Early in the day the justices before whom 
the trial for commitment was to be had met in 
the court room. Ryal, pale as the dead, looked 
hard at Joe Willis, who was sitting by William 
Mobley. He had sought Joe several times on 
the day before; but as no one could tell him 
where he was, he supposed he had returned 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 22 7 

home, Joe looked about him and seemed to 
see everybody in the room except Ryal. The 
counsel opening the case said he had but one 
witness to offer, but perhaps would follow his 
testimony with some circumstances tending, if 
necessary, to corroborate it. Then he asked 
Joe Willis to take the stand. Mrs. Towns re- 
garded Joe and her husband alternately. Ryal 
looked at Joe for a few moments then at his 
wife for a few more, most yearningly. It was 
the last time that he ever saw that face. 

Joe Willis himself was a little pale when he 
began. He employed many words in relating 
how he had been on a walk to the heater, 
counting the rails that he would save by tak- 
ing it into his own possession, if such a for- 
tune should ever befall him, and then how, 
upon the return home, he was astonished to 
find Wiley Towns lying by the side of the road 
asleep and intoxicated, while his horse was 
browsing near by. There Joe paused. 

“What did you do when you saw Wiley 
Towns ?” asked Mr. Mobley. 

“Nothin’, ’’answered Joe. “Nary thing did I do.” 


228 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 


“Why not?” 

“Because I heard voices.” Ryal groaned 
from the great deep of his breast. 

“I heard voices,” continued Joe, “and I 
didn’t want Uncle Tom to think that I had 
anything to do with the making of Wiley 
drunk; and so I got out o’ the road and dodged 
behind the big poplar.” 

“Joe,” said Ryal, haggard and beseeching, 
“how can you stand there and talk that way 
when you know you was at home when I got 
there, and you asked me who that was shootin’ 
down in the bottom ? ” 

“ Yes, Ryal,” answered Joe, without looking 
at him, “ but I’m on my oath now, and at that 
time things was too hot, and too much devil 
was in you for me to let you know where I 
thes been and what I saw.” 

Ryal shifted his chair so that he could rest 
his elbow on a table near by and lean his 
head upon his hand. Lifting his gaze above 
Joe it seemed fixed upon the ceiling. His 
wife followed him with her eyes, which were 
fastened upon him while Joe proceeded with 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 229 

his testimony. This was to the effect fol- 
lowing : 

The old man’s fondness for Wiley seemed to 
have been returning as he drew near home. 
When first heard by Joe he was railing at Ryal 
for wanting all the property, and especially for 
having left the will in town contrary to his ex- 
press injunctions. They had reached the little 
stream of water that crossed the road, and their 
horses were drinking. 

“ I mean to go right back to town and burn 
up that cussed will. It ain’t the way I want it. 
The old man — ” 

Just as the old man said these words Wiley’s 
horse appeared walking towards those ridden 
by the others, and Wiley was observed pros- 
trate in the road. His father gave an excla- 
mation and called to him. Ryal said to his fa- 
ther that one of the neighbors whom they met 
on the return had told him that Wiley had been 
in Dukesborough all day, and been drinking 
very hard. Both dismounted and approached 
Wiley. Ryal reached him first. Lifting the 
gun as far as the belt yet around Wiley would 


230 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 

allow, then getting upon his knees, and taking 
deliberate aim, he shot his father. The latter 
was so close that every shot went through his 
body. The report momentarily aroused Wiley, 
and in some sort of a struggle between the two 
brothers the gun was fired again after the fa- 
ther had fallen. Joe would never forget, he 
said, “the words of the old man when, seeing 
Ryal pointing the gun, he threw up his hands 
and cried : ‘ Oh, Wiley ! Wiley ! He’s going 

to kill me! forgive me, Wiley! Oh, my God, 
forgive me ! ’ ” 

Then Joe told how Ryal had charged Wiley 
with the killing, and how himself, after crawling 
upon his hands and knees for a few rods, had 
risen and run to his own house, where he had 
barely recovered his breath when Ryal came 
up. 

During the recital Ryal Towns’s face grew 
more and more livid. His head subsided until 
it now lay upon his arm on the table. His wife 
then moved her chair beside his and, taking 
his hands, she shuddered. 

“ Ryal,” she said, “ this is death ! Oh, you 


THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 23 1 

judges and you people, leave him with me for 
a little while, won’t you ? won’t you ? ” 

“ Clear the court room, Mr. Sheriff,” said one 
of the justices who, with his colleague and the 
rest, went out, or backed to the door. 

She put her arm around her husband, and 
drew his head to her bosom. 

“ There, now, that’s the only place.” Look- 
ing into his eyes, yet directed on high, she said: 

“ Ryal, do you know that the hand of God is 
upon you ? Oh, my husband, do you know 
that you are dying ? ” 

“ Yes,” he answered. 

“ Oh, my husband ! my husband ! ” 

She took from her shoulders the shawl where- 
with she was wrapped, folded it, rose from her 
chair, placed the shawl in it, and tenderly laid 
his head upon it; then knelt by his side. 

“ Ryal, my husband, don’t go into the pres- 
ence of God without repentance and confes- 
sion. Oh, my Ryal, pray God to forgive you ! 
Pray, Ryal ! pray, my husband ! Pray ! Oh, 
my God ! don’t take his life till he prays ! ” 
And then she uttered a scream so loud, so 


232 THE TOWNSES AND THEIR COUSINS 


piercing, so agonizing that none who heard it 
ceased during life to remember it. 

“ Pray for me, Nancy,” he said in a whisper. 
She lifted her eyes toward Heaven, and, in her 
husband’s name implored pardon, especially for 
this last great crime. 

The words were few but full of passion, and 
they were not ended when he died. 

A year after this event Buck Sinkler and his 
sister, who now lived with him, were sitting by 
the fireside in the evening. Buck had just re- 
turned from a visit to Mrs. Towns, and was in 
low spirits. His sister said to him : 

“ Brother Buck, I knew it would be useless. 
Even if Cousin Sally should think of marrying 
again, and I know she doesn’t any more than I 
do, she wouldn’t think it would be right to 
marry you, remembering how her husband felt 
about you.” 

“ Yes,” answered Buck, “that’s what she told 
me. She’s a great woman, Sally is. She’s truer to 
Tom Towns in his grave than the poor creature 
was to her when living. Be it so. 1 give it up.” 


THE END 







































































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